


keep you right

by ithacas



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithacas/pseuds/ithacas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn isn’t over his ex. niall helps to win him back. au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep you right

**Author's Note:**

> for the bestest pal. sorry i c/p'ed the entirety of this fic in your shared doc by accident. sorry your birthday was actually..... months.... ago...... my concept of time is very abstract.
> 
> this fic is set in portland, oregon BUT i am not from around them parts so any mistakes are my own and can be attributed to ~ artistic liberties. to anyone actually FROM portland, your city is hella.

 

 _“Why_ the fuck are we here again?”

Zayn sighs and pushes through the crowd outside _Gibson's_ , making sure Louis and Liam are following behind him. The place is full, mostly with college kids. It’s not surprising; it’s the first day of September that it hasn’t rained in Portland.

From outside it looks like a warehouse - another reason for Louis to roll his eyes and hiss about 'fucking hipsters' - two-storey and brick walls, so you almost miss it if you don't pay attention. Zayn doesn't let Louis scoff at it too long, just nods at the bouncer who doesn't ask for ID, and heads inside. It smells like weed and well whisky and beer and there’s too many skinny jeans and full beards to count. Zayn thinks it has character, even despite the jukebox by the bar playing nothing more recent than The Specials and the bartender wearing horn-rimmed glasses.

He winds through the people rolling up and heading to the patio and makes his way toward the bar, squeezing in to catch Lana's eye. He lifts one finger, "vodka soda for me and, Louis, stop being an asshole and order what you want, man -"

"I wanna not be _here_ -"

"Louis," Zayn says patiently.

"Get us two PBRs, bro," Liam laughs, slapping a hand against the back of Louis' neck and winking at Zayn in a _what can ya do_ kind of way. Zayn shakes his head even as he starts grinning and gives their order; he knew Louis was gonna be a shit from the moment they met up tonight. Getting domesticated has well and truly fucked up his best friend.

"Why'd you have to move to hipster central, Zayner," Louis sighs mournfully, tracking a girl with a colorful sleeve. She’s got something in Arabic misspelled on her wrist and a pierced septum and is exactly the type of chick Louis would go after, despite being a pretentious ass. If he wasn’t in a - quote - ‘ _committed fucking relationship_ ’ - unquote. Also known as _bullshit_.

"You live in Portland, Louis, shut up. And I moved because you kicked me out, remember?" He doesn't want to sound bitter - because he's _not_ \- but his mouth twists a little as he takes a sip of his drink. Louis turns back from checking out the girl and he's smiling, all teeth, which sometimes scares Zayn more than Louis' mood swings.

“Aw, Zayner. I miss you too.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn laughs, brushing off Louis' hand. Louis elbows him softly, tilting his chin up, and it's so familiar that, Louis checking up on him, that Zayn can't even pretend to be annoyed.

His mom's always called them codependent, and maybe they are, but he doesn't think it's a bad thing. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

Unlike _Louis_ , who is perfectly comfortable trading it for an apartment on Johnson Creek and a girlfriend who teaches kindergarten. Not that Zayn doesn't like Eleanor - he kind of wishes he had more reason to hate her than his best friend choosing her over his lame ass.

“You know you’re still my number one, Malik.” Louis throws an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, heavy, so Zayn can’t throw him off. “Even if you have shit taste in bars.”

“Fuck. You,” Zayn repeats, letting Louis stay close. Liam’s lost interest in them, already leaning dangerously over the bar to order another drink from Lana and Zayn can’t blame him; Zayn’s not been Louis' roommate for almost a month now and it’s still a sore subject and Louis' still treating him like a wounded animal. It’s probably the reason he actually showed up tonight instead of pretending to enjoy cheap wine and a romcom with El.

“For real, though, why are we here,” Louis' saying, his free hand swirling his beer bottle. He’s got one eye on Liam and the other on the small raised stage at the back of the bar where someone’s setting up a drum set. There’s a hum going through the crowd, centered around that small stage; like something’s about to happen and they’ve all been waiting for it.

Zayn doesn’t recognise anyone yet, it’s clearly just staff helping to set up, but the battered mic stand is all too familiar. Maybe there’s still a _zm_ written there, ballpoint blue and cursive. He can tell the base balanced on the speaker set is still the same one he almost threw from the third floor apartment on Mason Street. He licks his lips, nervous as hell. It’s been almost seven months now and he thought he was over it and he’s not, actually, he’s really fucking not. He’s surprised Louis hasn’t picked up on it so far.

“Hey!” Liam’s back, brandishing a tray of shots at them, the tops of his cheeks tinged pink. There’s a break in the crowd big enough that Zayn can finally prop himself on the bar properly and they do their shots, cheap bourbon making the back of his throat numb. Louis matches Liam’s smile and Zayn can’t resist going along with it, even as his stomach is doing somersaults; it’s nice, this, being with the guys, and it’s kind of making him feel guilty about his ulterior motives.

Another shot of bourbon - “on the house,” Lana says, making eyes at Liam - and still no sign of the band.

“Isn’t that -” Louis points to one corner of the bar, where there’s a black and white framed photo of Courtney Love, and Zayn chokes on his drink, whipping his head so fast he can hear it crick even over the din.

It's not Toby. He should’ve known that Louis hadn’t seen Toby; he sounded way too amused to have spotted a ‘literal human shitstain’. His words.

“It totally is,” Louis laughs. “That’s your roommate, right?”

Zayn’s shoulders sag with relief. He glances over at Courtney Love and there’s Harry in a circle of friends, his hair scraped back into a half-ponytail and his shirt undone, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Which he did, Zayn knows, because he’d padded into their kitchen for breakfast like two hours ago. He dithers for a second, contemplating moving further back to avoid Harry catching his eye but someone touches his elbow and points him in Zayn's direction before he makes any kind of decision. Harry waves enthusiastically and excuses himself from his pals.

“Zayn!”

Zayn tips back his drink because he’ll need it, before a hand slaps him on the back and he gets a faceful of Harry Styles up close and personal. "Hi, Harry," he says, with a measured voice. Harry isn't phased. He grins and bats his eyelids, looking eagerly around at Louis.

"Hey, you helped Zayn with the bed when he moved in, right? You and the tall one - him!" He waves at Liam, who blushes pink. Louis and Zayn both roll their eyes.

"Are you saying I'm short," Louis asks coolly. Harry's face immediately goes blank.

"Shit, no, I didn't mean, that wasn't -" Zayn decides to come to the rescue.

"Stop messing with him, Lou," he says, half laughing.

"Oh, good," Harry says, looking relieved. He turns his attention to Zayn again, smile back on. "Should've told me you were coming, man!"

“We just kind of, ended up here,” Zayn says lamely. It's not exactly the truth but Harry doesn't push it, even though he looks like he knows. He's oddly shrewd for someone who's only known Zayn a month; then again, he's also someone who has no sense of what personal space is. He caught Harry with his toothbrush in his mouth two days ago; when he called him out on it, Harry had just said with toothpaste dribbling down his chin, “sharing is caring, Zayn.”

“So are you here to see the band? I fucking love these guys, we used to go to, like, every show when we were in college…”

Zayn can see it happening, like a train crashing in slow motion in front of him. He tries to catch Harry’s eye and shake his head as inconspicuously as possible but Louis' looking at him oddly and Liam’s laughing at Harry and Harry’s distracted by that and not giving Zayn his full attention. He tightens his grip around his empty shot glass and waits for the inevitable.

“...think a couple of them went to Reed, actually?”

Louis stiffens beside Zayn. Zayn contemplates the indignity of drowning in a vodka soda.

“Oh, sick, maybe Zayn knows them,” Liam blurts out, probably trying to impress Harry. Zayn has an intense desire to knee him in the balls. “He's a Reed alum. What’re they called?”

“Who wants another round?” It comes out loud and rather desperate, but then the whole bar is loud, and all Zayn’s shout does is make Harry give him a thumbs up before turning to Liam. If Zayn didn’t want to kill him for what he knows will be coming out of his mouth, he’d be impressed by the once over he’s giving Liam.

“Calico Jack, y’heard of them?”

Liam clamps his mouth shut straight away and his eyes swivel over to Zayn like he knows he fucked up. Zayn groans and bangs his head on the bar top. He raises a hand behind him before he talks again, his speech muffled. “Don’t say anything, Louis.” He can taste varnish and second hand alcohol where his mouth is pressed on the bar.

Louis' breathing like a crazed bull behind him. “I didn’t say anything.” His voice makes it sound like he could break several things at once. Zayn winces.

“Did _I_ say something,” Harry asks tentatively. Zayn hears someone pat him on the back; fuck Liam for trying to get laid in Zayn’s hour of need. It’s silent for a long, long moment until Zayn decides to brave the storm and sit up again. Liam’s hand is still resting on Harry’s shoulder and Harry’s looking apologetic which is - again - oddly shrewd of him. Louis, on the other hand, is looking like several vital arteries are about to burst.

“Okay, listen -”

“Oh, I’m listening,” Louis says scathingly. “I thought you were _over_ this shit, Zayn!”

“I am,” Zayn says uselessly. He is, he _totally_ is, tonight means nothing, this is _nothing_. The fact that his heart’s about to beat out of his chest or that it took him three hours to pick out a pair of black skinny jeans means _nothing_.

“He fucked you over, Zayn! He’s been fucking you over forever and then he left and fucked you even more!”

“What’s going on,” Harry whispers when Louis pauses for breath, his eyes wide. Liam wisely just shakes his head.

Zayn clenches his jaw and refuses to look defeated, even though every word out of Louis' mouth is true. He’s had this argument enough times in the last two years; he doesn’t need a repeat.

It’s not like Louis ever warmed to Toby. He’s always found Zayn’s penchant for white hipsters hilarious and his opinion didn’t change when Toby came into the picture, long hair and carefully groomed stubble and electric guitar with the amp all distorted. It probably didn’t help that Zayn fell hard and put up with Toby’s shit for longer than he’d ever been in a relationship, that he’d drag Zayn to every dive in Oregon with his shitty fucking band and that he left, sudden as fuck last year to ‘chase his dream’ barely looking back at what he left behind.

“Did you know he was coming back,” Louis asks grimly. Zayn blinks and feels his phone burn a hole in his backpocket. _u around nxt we'd? Doing homecoming gig at gibsons. I'll put u on the list :)_ He'd hidden in the industrial-sized refrigerator at work for two hours after he got that.

“He texted me. Like, last week.”

“Then you ignore him, Zayn! Him and his magical fucking dick!”

“I’m not here to hook up with him again, Louis.” He says it in a low voice and he almost believes the words coming out of his mouth.

“Can I just ask -”

“No,” Louis and Zayn say at the same time and Harry slumps.

“Swear to me you’re not going down this road again, Zayn. Because I was the one that had to deal with the mess he left behind.”

Zayn blinks up at his best friend. It was a bad time, after Toby up and left to go on tour. He’d basically turned into a housebound hermit and he only showed signs of life when there’d be a drive-by text from Toby from Fuck All, Wisconsin or an update on the band’s Instagram. Louis was the one who nursed him through it, calling Toby every colorful name in the book while he was at it. It helped eventually, and Zayn’s fine now and he’s thankful for it. He squirms a little, standing in front of Louis, and tries to ignore the guilt.

“I swear, Lou,” he murmurs and he closes the distance between them, makes himself sound as soothing as possible. It’s shit, knowing he’s lying to his best friend. “I’m only here for old times’ sake.”

Louis watches him carefully. Then he nods, once, a sharp dip of his chin. “Okay. Okay. Doesn’t change the fact that I thought I’d never have to listen to his shitty indie crap again.”

The corner of Zayn’s lips tilt up and Louis matches it. Relief shoots through him.

“Soooooo,” Harry interrupts again and Zayn glances at him, still smiling. “I feel out of the loop.”

“Zayn used to date the lead guitarist from Calico Jack,” Liam butts in helpfully. “Then Toby decided to split -”

“He went on tour,” Zayn mutters, resigned that he’s gonna have to fill Harry in. His eyes flit over to the stage where someone in a denim jacket is throwing the drumsticks in the air and catching them again to the appreciative roar of the people in front. Zayn recognises Paul and feels a pang of nostalgia; they’d been friends while Zayn dated Toby. He’d always end up hanging at Paul’ place when they were songwriting, sharing a bowl and laughing at Toby getting the worst high.

“Right, yeah, this weird, like, bike tour?” Liam’s saying, basking under Harry’s undivided attention. “I know bicycles, right, so I helped them with these like, seriously weird custom bike trailers -”

“Nobody cares about your bike fetish, Liam.” Liam throws Louis a scowl.

“Whatever. Anyway, they dated for like, two years, and this is the first time the band’s been back.”

Harry’s looking at Zayn all impressed. “So, you’re a groupie.”

That wipes the smile off Zayn’s face. “I am not -”

“You totally are, man,” Louis laughs, the taut line of him relaxed now. “It’s always fucking musicians.”

“Hey, I’m kinda feeling attacked now -”

“He’s definitely got a thing for, like, beards and chords, it’s so weird,” Liam’s whispering conspiratorially in Harry’s ear. Zayn flips them off.

“I hope you all choke on dicks,” he starts saying, only the lights around them dim even more than before and the crowd cheers in unison as the band make it on stage.

He looks the same. Zayn swallows air, the back of his throat suddenly bone dry, as he follows Toby tuning his guitar. He’s skinnier maybe than the last time Zayn saw him but it works in his favor; his hair’s matted and tucked messily under a beanie, his tattoos are a stark contrast against the white paint-spattered henley he’s wearing and he’s wearing those black skinny jeans he hasn’t taken off in months. He moves to his mic stand, curling both hands around it and licking his lips obscenely. The others flank him on either side, bass and guitar already playing along with Paul’ steady beat.

Zayn tries not to let it get to him, how familiar this all is, but it’s so easy falling back into how everything was two years ago. The crowd is roaring along with the lyrics, the same lyrics Zayn watched Paul and Toby write together in their grubby apartment, the same words Zayn remembers Toby whispering into his ear when they were too trashed for anything but a quick fuck in a club in lower Burnside. It seizes him suddenly, the need for Toby to _look_ at him, to pick him out of the crowd of faces and sing just for him.

Their set goes on for half an hour and Zayn's pretty sure he's at least made a dent in the wood of the bar, his nails have been digging in there that tightly. When the last song dies down to Paul' steady drum beat, Zayn's worn thin; he can't stand it anymore. He leans up to whisper in Louis's ear - "Bathroom, be back in a sec," and doesn't pause at the way his eyebrows have drawn together, concerned - and then squeezes by the people behind him.

It's a relief when he walks past the line outside the ladies' and shuts the door behind him. He can't hear anything here, other than the slight hum of someone speaking into a mic. He turns the cap of the sink until water dribbles out and twists his rings off of his fingers. When he splashes his face and looks up finally, it's not as bad as he expected; no one looking at him would think he's dying or suffering from an overexposure to Taylor Swift. He bites his lip until it turns red under his teeth, then he rolls his shoulders and raises a hand to fix his hair. Toby's going to see him when he comes out, he's gonna see him and he's gonna remember every fucking moment they've had until his head spins and he pulls it out of his ass enough to realize what he's been missing. Then he's gonna fall mouth first onto Zayn's dick.

Foolproof.

He's distracted from his less than wholesome thoughts by a giggle. He frowns at his reflection; that was definitely a girl giggling. He glances around just to make sure he's in the right bathroom; but there are urinals behind him and out of the two stalls, one of the doors is hanging from its hinges, a number and a dick scrawled in black biro. The other door is shut snugly until the giggle echoes against the linoleum again and a girl tumbles out. She catches Zayn's eye and turns pink. Not like she's embarrassed, but like she didn't expect Zayn. It warms him for some reason, so he smiles at her and she smiles back before she winds her hair over her shoulder and sneaks out.

Zayn turns back to the sink, drying his hands on the paper towel. A couple of seconds later, the stall door opens again and Zayn looks up to see the guy the girl was clearly hooking up with. The smile comes again instinctively; the guy looks pleased, pink flushing the top of his cheeks, his hair falling flat over his forehead like someone just ruffled it fondly. He's got that kind of face, Zayn thinks ineffectually; the kind of face you probably want to pat after it's given you an orgasm.

He sidles next to Zayn and taps at the spout until water spurts out at him. "You're Harry's roommate, aren't you?"

Zayn meets his eyes in the mirror and it clicks then; he's seen this guy before. At the apartment, when he was still wary of Harry, and Harry invited him to share a takeaway. Zayn racks his brains. "Neil?"

The guy laughs. "Niall." He offers a hand; Zayn raises an eyebrow. Niall pulls his hand back, looking sheepish. "Right, yeah, sorry."

"You're not sorry," Zayn says, grinning. Niall shrugs.

"I'm not actually."

They share a laugh in the mirror, the kind of laugh you only share when you’re drunk and in a bathroom. “Okay, then. See you ‘round, man.” Zayn salutes him with a finger and Niall nods at him, watching him push open the door. It swings behind bim dangerously and he blinks at the sudden surge in noise. The band’s gone from the stage and the jukebox is being commandeered by Hank Williams and Zayn feels that trickle of panic again. He glances around, looking for Toby’s familiar figure in the crowd. He spots Paul, shotglass raised above his head and waving and then Liam, Louis and Harry appear in front of him in quick succession. Liam’s hand is conspicuously hidden behind Harry. He raises an eyebrow.

“I know my way back,” he says slowly.

Louis shakes his head.

“We’re going, Zayn.”

Zayn grinds his teeth. “Louis, I am seriously just gonna talk to him -”

“I really think it’s better if we leave, Zayn,” Liam nods furiously. Zayn can see his hand in Harry’s back pocket now.

“I invited them over to ours, we can have a nightcap,” Harry says eagerly, with a smile bordering on the manic.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Harry just looks smug. He leans into Liam just in case someone didn’t know he was taking him home. _“Okay,”_ Zayn hisses through his teeth. “Well, I’m gonna go now -”

Louis grabs his shoulder to keep him still. “Zayn -” Louis bites his lip, frustrated. “Look, he came to say hi, while you were in the bathroom -”

“Toby said hi to _you?”_

Louis clenches his jaw. “I was never _that_ much of an asshole to him.

“That one time you threw boiling pasta water at his crotch, remember,” Liam pipes up helpfully. Louis shoots him a look and Liam shuts up. He sighs.

“He wasn’t alone, Zayn.”

All Zayn can hear suddenly is white noise. He remembers for some reason, the first time he went on a rollercoaster. He was twelve and he hadn’t wanted to go on at all but Louis had been nagging him for ages until Zayn caved finally. The specifics are blurred - Louis swears to this day, that Zayn actually passed out - but the feeling of falling, of his stomach dropping to his feet comes to him right then, in achingly accurate detail. He must slump a little, because Lou’s hand tightens around him, holding him up.

“Who the - he _invited_ me.” He can feel anger pooling in his belly; he can deal with the sad part of whatever this is when he’s alone and it’s legal to smoke. This wasn’t how this night was supposed to shape up.

“He’s a bag of dicks, Zayn, let’s just leave,” Louis mutters.

Zayn’s about to nod - because _fuck_ Toby to hell - but then he  blinks and something catches his eye. It’s always been like a gravitational pull, this thing between them. He glances at the bar and Paul’s back moves to talk to someone and then - There’s Toby, looking right at him. And he smiles, he fucking _smiles_ and Zayn is such a goner, because that’s all it takes for him to pull himself out of whatever haze he was in and start making his way toward the band. Toby stands up, like he’s waiting for Zayn and Zayn’s heart blooms with it.

“Zayn, c’mon -”

“Five minutes,” Zayn says quietly, and he can hear it in his voice and Louis must to, because he doesn’t put up a fight after that.

Toby lifts a hand and mouths a ‘hey’ and he’s got those familiar lines around his mouth. The ones that appear when he’s happy and Zayn can’t not think, _I did that._ He moves through the crowd, eyes never leaving Toby, not even when he sees a hand with red nails grip him round the waist and Toby turns around, lines still at the corners of his mouth and -

Zayn stops dead, two steps away from them.

Because Toby’s kissing someone who’s not him. And Zayn has to go, Zayn has to go now. He doesn’t wait for Toby to turn back - even though he’s desperately hoping he does - and he just moves. It’s a little hard to breathe; there’s too many people and it’s warm in here and Zayn needs to get out of this place. He meets Louis' eyes, too far away and he can’t focus on the pity there. He twists his head and moves forward until he bumps shoulders with someone and trips over his feet. A hand grabs him by the waist before he falls flat on his face and he clutches at it out of instinct. He focuses on them and not the black at the edge of his vision.

“You okay, man?” It’s the same voice as before, except it sounds surprisingly sober now. It’s close to his ear, enough that stubble catches his cheek. Zayn stands up straight and turns his head to make out Niall looking at him, concerned.

He’s close, is the thing. He’s close and he’s a warm presence against Zayn’s back. Zayn can feel it, can feel Toby’s eyes on him, even if he can’t see him. Niall’s mouth is pink with drink and if there was room for logical thought in his brain, he wishes it would kick in right now. There isn’t though and Zayn’s angry and Niall’s mouth is _just there_. He squeezes the arm around his waist and his other hand finds the back of Niall’s head, stroking slightly. Niall’s eyes go wide and Zayn sees it, a second before he leans in, that Niall realizes what he’s about to do. And he doesn’t pull back.

He’s too drunk and too aware of the eyes watching them to feel anything about the kiss. Niall tastes of whisky sours and there’s smoke clinging to his clothes; he thinks hazily, the combination’s familiar on his tongue. Niall’s hand tenses around his waist, making his muscles jump under his fingers. Zayn presses a last peck on his mouth before he pulls away. Not for anyone’s benefit except Niall’s and Niall seems to get that, from the imperceptible nod in Zayn’s direction.

Then Zayn’s fight or flight instinct kicks in, hard. “I gotta - I have to - bye,” he says incomprehensibly and he swerves around Niall before he can get a word in edgewise. He gets to the others who are all staring at him, open-mouthed; it makes him a little nervous that Harry’s also looking pretty impressed.

“What the -” Liam starts but Zayn doesn’t stop.

“Not now,” he mutters through his teeth and keeps going.

“But, Zayn!”

“Not now,” Louis repeats behind him. Zayn doesn’t bother looking back.

* * *

He wakes up to Harry singing off-key and raspy in the shower and the alarm of one of the stores underneath their apartment going off incessantly. He groans into his pillow and tries to tune out the Van Morrison medley beating a tattoo against his skull. When that doesn’t work, he crawls over the bed, hand outstretched for the pack of cigs he has on the nightstand. It clearly isn’t his fucking day; he shakes the packet, saying a silent prayer for the sound of something inside. There’s nothing, because smoking is bad for you and Zayn is hated by the Universe.

It takes him forty-five minutes to psyche himself into getting up and he’s still half-snoring by the time he zips up his rumpled hoodie and shuffles out of his room. He bangs on the bathroom door on the way to the kitchen - Harry hits a high note on _you can take all the tea in China_ \- and switches the lights off to be a dick. The cheerful “Morning, Zayn!” he hears through the door doesn’t improve his mood.

He squints as he walks into their kitchen, scowling at the blurry human shape sitting by the sink. He’s lost his glasses again and that’s half the day wasted looking for them. He busies himself with coffee, flapping his arms around imperiously when Liam comes into focus. He’s in mismatched socks, one dirty white and long, one pink, and one of Harry’s sweaters hanging loose over his shoulders; a beanie that’s probably Zayn’s is covering his ears.

“I could’ve gone without seeing your ass again for the rest of my entire adult life,” he murmurs, voice gruff with sleep. He tilts his head at his again. “Why would you ruin that for me?”

Liam grins, sipping at his own mug. “You love my ass, Zayn.”

“Too early for this,” Zayn groans, stirring in sugar.

“For my ass?”

“For your ass."

“Why’re talking ‘bout asses without me,” comes a voice from behind Zayn and he’s enveloped suddenly by a pair of warm arms. It’s only because Zayn is half asleep that he doesn’t offer any resistance.

“Did you use up all the hot water?”

Harry shrugs, his front still pressed to Zayn’s back, and Zayn takes that as a yes. He wiggles his way out of the embrace and grabs a stale cookie from one of the jars in the cupboard. Liam’s still sitting on the sink when he turns around and Harry’s perched on one of their precarious stools in what’s probably the tightest pants known to man. At least he’s wearing pants; Zayn’s got to count his blessings. They keep glancing at each other when the other’s not looking; they’ve got that look, that look Zayn remembers and _misses_ and it makes him chew all the harder on his cookie.

He’s in the middle of pouring another cup of coffee when the subject comes up. Liam and Harry are whispering behind him, in a way that makes him think he’d better make himself scarce or he’ll be subjected to more sex sounds - last night was brutal - so he takes his mug with him and tries to escape inconspicuously. Than Harry opens his very big mouth.

“So, are we gonna talk about you making out with Niall, or nah?”

Zayn chews on his lip before he decides to turn around. Liam's wisely pretending to text and Harry's looking at him with his arms crossed, expectant. Zayn sighs and goes back to the table, pulling out the chair Harry has his feet on. He watches him scramble with satisfaction.

"Dick move," Harry pouts when Liam's taken it upon himself to set him up straight. Zayn shrugs and sips at his coffee. He's not exactly avoiding the conversation; it's just, the memory of last night is kind of blurry at best. A few things stand out in stark contrast from the rest; Toby smiling at him from across the crowd, the red talons holding him put before he leaned over to kiss whoever that girl was, the taste of whisky sour in his mouth and - tragically - the sound of Harry pushing Liam against the wall after they came back to the apartment. The details in between escape him.

"Niall texted me this morning," Harry interrupts his train of thought. Zayn winces. Whatever he did last night, he knows he didn't exactly think it through. "He's got the worst hangover in his life apparently," Harry reads from his cellphone, in a put on accent, "he smells like a human distillery, according to his mom and then there's a postscript - _'also pretty sure I made out w ur roommate last nite? Was that a dream'._ " Harry scrunches up his nose when he looks up at Zayn again. "Should I tell him he has severe brain damage?"

"Look." Zayn puts his cup down and lays his hands down flat in front of him. "I didn't plan it, okay? Just - Toby was _right there_ and he was shoving his tongue down some girl's throat -"

"Margot," Liam supplies. Zayn frowns at him, momentarily lost. Harry elbows Liam in the stomach.

"I - what?"

"Ouch." Liam rubs his belly, scowling at Harry. "Toby introduced her to us. Her name's Margot."

"We should talk about tact," Harry mutters, which is rich, coming from Harry.

"You've known him twelve hours, you don't need to talk about anything," Zayn mumbles offhandedly. "He _introduced_ her to you?"

"He's a real piece of work," Liam spits out. Harry nods fervently, scratching the back of Liam's neck. Zayn lets himself wonder about Harry being the most tactile human ever, then goes back to wishing a violent death on Toby and fucking Margot.

"I don't fucking believe it." He slumps in his chair and runs a hand roughly through his bed head.

"If it's any consolation," Harry starts saying slowly, "he didn't seem happy about you potentially fucking Niall."

Liam smirks. "He  _freaked_. It was beautiful."

"Pretty sure he dropped Margot -"

"And Paul was definitely holding him back -"

"Seriously?" He doesn't want to let himself hope - but it's gratifying to think Zayn kissing someone else made Toby jealous. He loses himself in a fantasy where Toby starts banging down their door to proclaim true love to Zayn until Harry kicks the leg of his chair. "Hey, fuck- ! Watch it!"

"Payback's a bitch," Liam laughs. Zayn doesn't know how he's known with him long enough to take Harry's side. Then again, he's never willingly let Harry get within an inch of his dick. That probably changes things.

 _"Seriously,"_ Harry says like there was no interruption. "His eyes, like, popped out of his skull. Dude's still got it bad."

Zayn pats his pockets down and finds his phone. There's nothing there but a text from Safaa and the little treacherous balloon of hope deflates instantly. His shoulders drop. "Not bad enough." He hates how petulant he sounds.

"Hey, bro, don't do that," Liam scowls. He punches a fist into his palm. "Right, I'm gonna kick his ass, are you coming," he asks Harry, half standing. Harry's eyes glaze over. Then he shakes his head.

"No, I'm not, because I'm not insane." He pulls Liam's sleeve and brings him back down again. Zayn's almost tempted to go with Liam; Louis would be up for it. "I've got a better plan." This he directs to Zayn, his smile unfurling slowly. It's very ominous when most of the time he tries to look angelic. Zayn leans back.

"What."

"Niall's single." Harry waggles his eyebrows, as if that wasn't subtle enough. Zayn slumps further down in his chair; he'd actually entertained the idea that Harry would have a real plan.

"I'm not dating your friend, Harry," he says shortly.

Harry shakes his head and a bunch of curls wack Liam in the face. "Not _really_ date. Just like, y'know." He widens his eyes suggestively. "Make out some more in Toby's face. Be the obnoxious couple on Facebook that's always letting people know they're banging on the bus. Celebrate your two-week-and-a-half anniversary with a weekend on the coast."

Zayn takes a moment to process this. "You know someone who posted that they had sex in the bus on Facebook?"

Harry clamps his mouth shut and tries to hide his sideways glance at Liam. "No," he says unconvincingly. Zayn squints at him.

"When did you have sex with someone in a bus? I hope it was before I moved in."

"Shut up, Zayn, we're talking about you now." Liam's eyes are a perfect round. "C'mon, it's the perfect plan."

Zayn considers it. It's tempting, making Toby feel as jealous as Zayn is right now. But he's not that person; for all his death wishes, he hasn't really dated anyone since Toby and it's not because he's suddenly taken up celibacy. He's still in love with him, has been for years now and he can't just switch it off. He can't help it; he's romantic to a fault. There's something in him that believes Toby will come to his senses and see how much he's missed Zayn. He doesn't need to trick him into it. He glances down at his phone again. Toby hasn't forgotten him; it's been seven months and not a week went by without him at least texting Zayn. He's got them all - he's even screencapped them because he's close to becoming a psycho ex, but that's besides the point - every _i miss u_ , _every thinking of u_ , every time Toby admitted being apart hurt him as much as it did Zayn.

He can't ignore that. Margot or not, Toby's back, he's back _home_ and that means something. He looks up at Harry and Liam, sees the disappointment already settling in Harry's pout.

Harry sighs. "I'll tell Niall to stop jerking off to you in his sleep and thinking it's real life."

Zayn barks out a laugh and starts flicking crumbs at both of them.

* * *

“Raw pistachios.”

“Raw pistachios,” Harry repeats calmly, his voice crystal clear through the phone. Zayn can hear him shuffling in the background, opening and closing cupboards. He’s probably naked - Zayn knows for a fact he strips as soon as he’s sure Zayn’s out for more than fifteen minutes - naked and scrounging their kitchen for something edible. There’s nothing there; that’s why Zayn’s skated to fucking Trader Joe’s at eight thirty in the fucking night, trying to find raw fucking pistachios. All he’d wanted was a carton of milk so he could at least have a bowl of cereal in the morning, but Harry caught him as he snuck out and promised to call when he’d done inventory. Zayn waved him off, pulling his beanie lower down his head and snapping his headphones over his ears again. Five minutes in the grocery store and Harry’s personalised ringtone cut through his daydreaming and he was scrambling to answer before R Kelly could sing a full verse of _Bump ‘n’ Grind_. He could hear Harry grinning because he got away with it. "When the fuck did you change my ringtone?" "Not telling."

“Why the fuck d’you need raw pistachios? Who eats raw pistachios?” He scans the bag in his hand and makes a face at no one. Harry is so weird.

“Martha has this recipe I wanna try.” Harry sounds like he’s chewing something now.  He starts coughing like fifty-year old smoker. Zayn rolls his eyes and throws the pistachios in his basket.

“Stop stealing my gum,” he warns. “Who’s Martha?”

“Stewart. And get the wine. I feel classy today.”

Zayn can feel a smile unfurl on his face, despite himself. “You’re actually a soccer mom. And nothing says classy like two-buck wine.”

“You know it, brother. Oh! Kettle corn. Please.”

Zayn wanders down the candy aisle, studiously avoiding temptation in favor of his credit card. The staff are already clearing up the floors; he nods at someone he recognizes from Reed, bags under her eyes that spell out final year art and adjusts the phone balancing on his shoulder. This time last year, he was that girl; at the college library, surviving on intravenous caffeine, it felt like, and daydreaming of Thanksgiving for a break.

He’d stayed in Portland for the holidays last year. Toby had invited him over to have dinner with his parents.

He blinks at the memory. It cuts deeper than he wants to admit. He only remembers Harry's on the line when he keeps moaning about corn. “Is there something you need to tell me, Styles. Did Liam knock you up?”

“Ha ha. You can be godfather, asshole. Get the kettle corn.”

“Get your baby daddy to satisfy your cravings.” He locates the wine and dithers between white and red. He hates both but wine’s a safe bet for getting drunk when his friends are fucking like rabbits in the next room, so he grabs one of each. For some reason, he stands on his tiptoes to reach up to the top of the display. When he takes the red and rolls it on the bottom of his basket, he gets a clear view of the frozen food aisle - and freezes. “Fuck,” he breathes out, low as he can.

“What. Are they out of kettle corn?”

“Shh,” Zayn hisses, like anyone can hear Harry other than him. He crouches low, still behind the wine, and tries not to stare at the gap between the bottles. There’s Toby, frozen pizza in hand, making out with a blonde whose name Zayn refuses to remember against the freezer door.

“What is it,” Harry whispers ridiculously. Zayn can almost see him; naked as the day he was born, frowning in the middle of their empty apartment like he’s working on a puzzle.

“It’s - fuck. It’s Toby.”

“What’s Toby doing there?” Harry’s voice is an octave higher and full of outrage. Zayn bats his hand before he remembers that Harry can’t see him.

“I guess he’s buying fucking groceries, Harry, what do you think.”

“Is he with Margot?” Zayn makes a noise with the back of his throat. “I’ll take that as a yes. Oh my god, what are you gonna do? Don’t use the wine.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn mutters. Toby’s tongue is still in Margot’s mouth. He feels the twist of jealousy in his gut but there’s something more there, too. It hurts, remembering Thanksgiving a year ago, when they snuck out on the Benson’s porch to smoke up, the stairs creaking when Zayn tried to navigate his way to Toby’s childhood bedroom; and then this, this definitive moment when Zayn knows Toby isn’t thinking of the same thing.

He swallows down the hurt and refocuses on his loser roommate. Harry’s babbling by himself. “What,” he says confusedly, trying not look directly at Toby, but still keeping them in his periphery. He doesn’t want them to see him. He’s in fucking sweatpants that probably belong to Louis and he hasn’t taken a shower since two days ago and his basket looks like he’s buying himself a girls’ night in to cry. Zayn hates his life so goddamn much.

“I _said_ \- whatever, doesn’t matter. Just stay there, okay? Don’t let them see you. I’ve got this under control,” Harry says, not all that reassuringly. Zayn’s distracted enough that he forgets the pain in his chest.

“What does _that_ mean?”

“It means, go get my kettle corn and everything will be fine. Gotta go, love you, bye!”

Zayn actually stares at his phone when the line goes dead. Then he remembers that innocent pizzas are learning how babies are made and scans how far the exit is. Too far; he’ll have to go around Toby and Margot and that is definitely not happening. Feeling like a dick-shaped neon sign, he raises his basket to the height of his head and shuffles to the right until he’s sure that they won’t be able to see him. Bags of kettle corn stare back at him mockingly when he looks around him. Amazing.

He pulls down a bag viciously. He should’ve known Toby might be hanging around here. His parents live way over in Healy Heights but he’s probably crashing over at Paul’ apartment a block over. Maybe even fucking _Margot_ has a place down east, she looks like the poster child of Alberta. “Stupid,” he mutters to himself, opening the stupid bag of stupid kettle corn and stuffing a handful in his mouth. “Stupid, stupid, _stup-”_

Someone knocks into his side and sends his corn flying. He looks up at one of the staff throwing a dirty look in his direction and hears a giggle from behind him. “Oh, crap, I’m _sorry_ , I’m a klutz, I - oh, hey!”

He doesn’t recognize the voice. But then, he doesn’t need to; he turns, hoping to God he’s wrong, and stares at Margot giving him a patent pageant queen smile. Toby has a loose hand around her waist and a looser grin on his face. For a moment - just a moment - Zayn allows himself to hurt. They look comfortable, pajama and hot cocoa and blanket comfortable, and Zayn wants that, he wants it _back_.

He doesn’t let it show. He dumps the half empty bag back in his basket and matches their grins with a grimace. “It’s no problem. They tasted gross anyway. Hey.”

“Hey,” Toby says smoothly, eyes flitting over Zayn. Zayn can feel himself go warm at the attention. Even if he looks like shit, he looks like hot shit. If he believes it enough, it might come true. “Got the munchies?”

Fuck Toby. He shrugs and the smile is beginning to hurt his cheeks now. “I guess? We needed milk.” Even admitting that much truth feels like he’s losing at this.

“The royal 'we'?” Toby doesn’t say it to be mean - Zayn can’t remember the last time he thought of Toby as mean in any context - but it still sounds condescending to his ears. He wants to die. Unshaven and at a Trader Joe’s, but he’ll take it. Work your magic, Universe.

“Ha,” he says, trying to laugh. Death, death, death. “Yeah I-” and then he clamps his mouth shut because something catches his eye. He peers over Toby's shoulder and swallows down his horrible sense of dread. Niall fucking Horan's just burst into the store, his hair wet and a guitar strapped on his back. He’s still wearing his cycling helmet. “Um.”

Niall spots him straight away and jogs over, running a hand through his hair and sending droplets everywhere. He eases past Toby and Margot, barely sparing them a glance, and plants a kiss right on Zayn’s half open mouth. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise at this point.

Zayn licks his lips, eyes carefully on Niall. He’s smiling and gives Zayn a wink before he swipes the basket from him. Zayn can taste mint on his tongue and for half a second all he can think is, _he brushed his teeth for me_. The thought is so random that he has to file it away and focus on the embarrassing situation at hand. Toby's knuckles are white around Margot's hipbone.

"Sorry 'm late, babe," Niall says smoothly, rummaging through Zayn's grocery pile. "We were arguing about next week's lesson and this kid - Sam, 've told you about her, yeah? She wanted fucking Miley Cyrus. Like, hello? I'm not giving back to society by twerking."

Niall woops at the sight of the opened kettle corn and shoves a hand in the bag, delighted. While he's chewing, he glances up at Zayn, eyes twinkling. There's a nudge there, behind those baby blues. _C'mon, Zayn, play along, you got this_. Zayn hesitates.

"You totally caved, didn't you," he says hoarsely. He has no fucking clue what kind of conversation they're having here but Niall's eyes turn brighter and he grins. Point to me, Zayn thinks and he feels proud of himself for some weird reason.

Niall sighs dramatically. "I fucking did. She's got me wrapped around her little finger. Kids these days. Am I right?" This he directs to the weird circle they've formed in the snack aisle; Zayn, Zayn's ex-boyfriend, Zayn's ex-boyfriend's girlfriend and apparently Zayn's fake boyfriend. This is a Mindy Kaling sitcom. When no one answers, Niall takes it in his stride. "So, we got everything? I'm starving."

"I, um. Yeah? Pretty - pretty much, yeah." Zayn braves a glance at Toby who's staring intently between them both. Zayn follows his line of sight and he's surprised to see his hand in Niall's. Niall's thumb is clasped around his wrist, pressing against the beginning of his tattoo. Zayn hadn't even noticed when it happened.

"Cool. Still cool if I stay over, right?"

Zayn can still feel Toby staring. He smiles easier for the first time tonight. "'Course." He glances over at the others, like they're an afterthought. "See you guys, yeah?"

Margot nods enthusiastically. Toby blinks and nods, once.

Niall tugs him toward the checkout, hand still wrapped softly around Zayn's.

"Yo! Zee!"

Zayn's breath catches in his throat. Nobody calls him Zee. Nobody except Toby. He twists around, Niall's thumb still a pressure against his pulse. Toby's wrapped himself around Margot, his chin on her shoulder. There it is again, that unaccountable press of hurt.

"We're doing Live Saturday for KPSU?" Harry does a couple of shifts for the college radio, so Zayn's heard of the show; he sucks in his lower lip, waiting. "There's not gonna be, like, a crowd or anything but. Would be neat if you came." The stress on the you is barely there, but Zayn knows Toby. He's not inviting Niall.

Niall doesn't know Toby though, or maybe he just doesn't care. "We'll be there, man, sounds sick! Saturday!"

The girl at the cashier runs through their groceries half asleep, yawning every time she bags something. Zayn goes to grab the bag when she's done only Niall gets their before him, shoving it under his arm and nudging Zayn toward the door. It's like an itch on his back, knowing Toby is watching them and Zayn has absolutely zero self-control when it comes to him so of course he looks back. Margot is fawning over something but Toby's attention is all on Zayn, a hard line on his forehead. It sends a thrill down his spine.

"Keep it cool, man, keep it cool," Niall mutters from the side of his mouth, leaning over again to drape his arm around Zayn. Zayn allows it, allows himself to be herded to the bike rack in the parking lot. There's only one bike there, a battered blue Fixie that looks like it's seen better days, and Niall pats its handlebars softly as if it's an old friend. He hadn't taken him to be a biker, Zayn thinks; but first impressions are almost always wrong and Zayn's only ever had a first impression of Niall.

Niall straps the groceries to the back and unlocks the bike, wheeling it backward. Zayn watches him, weary all of a sudden. "Back to yours, yeah?" Zayn nods dumbly, with a flippant glance behind him. They've switched most of the lights off in the store and it's a blessing, probably; he doesn't need to witness any more potential PDA.

It rained earlier, so the road's dotted with puddles. Niall doesn't seem to mind; he pushes the bike ahead, getting himself wet along the way. Zayn guesses his Converse were probably white at some point; now they're too weather worn to tell.

It's only when they're a safe distance from Toby making a surprise appearance that Zayn stops dead in his tracks and crosses his arms. Niall sucks in both lips, looking apprehensive.

"Harry said you might be like this," Niall manages to rush before Zayn gets a word in. It makes him shut his mouth quickly and he can feel his temperature rising just at the mention of Harry's name.

"Harry told you to come?" He can't help the slight indignation in his voice. Somehow that's worse; that Harry orchestrated this instead of Niall just happening to come by and to Zayn's rescue. Not that Zayn needs any rescuing; he's not a fucking damsel in distress.

Niall shrugs. "He, um. He knew I was in the neighborhood. I cycled, like, a block over. Not a big deal."

The anger is boiling in Zayn's stomach. He hopes to God Harry has the sense to go straight to bed because if Zayn sees him he won't be held accountable for his actions.

"What the - what did he say to you?"

Niall looks like he knows he's only digging the hole deeper. "Just, like. You hate your ex? Or something? You want revenge." He says the last word with a flourish, like he's joking, but Zayn can spot Harry's flair for drama from a mile away. Revenge. It makes Zayn sound like he's in one of those telenovelas Waliyha is obsessed with.

"I don't want 'revenge'," Zayn hisses - and he knows he's not angry with Niall, not really, but he still can't stop the scathing tone in his voice.

"To piss him off, whatever," Niall amends. "It's fine, man, seriously, I owed Harry anyway -"

This is just getting better and better. "Fucking hell. I'm not Harry fucking Styles' pity case -"

Niall widens his eyes, looking horrified. "I didn't - no, that's like, definitely not what I meant - he seriously just told me come and help, the, like, kissing you and everything, that was me, I was just, I thought it'd be fun to fuck with your guy's head. I mean, I guess I was outta line -"

"You think," Zayn says flatly. Niall holds up one hand, palm forward.

"I get that you're annoyed, Zayn." He's talking calmly and it jars Zayn a little, when he hears him say his name. "But Harry was just trying to help. And so was I."

"I told Harry I didn't want to do this." He sounds tired, and he is. He'd expected - he doesn't know really, what he expected from meeting Toby again. Not this though. And not to be completely dumbfounded.

Niall's biting the cuticles of his thumb, watching him. "Honestly, man, I'm - sorry, I guess, I thought this was just a dumb joke. It won't happen again." He leans the bike against his hip and undoes the grocery bag. Zayn takes it wordlessly.

"I'll see you around. Maybe." Niall nods awkwardly, sitting on the bike and balancing precariously.

He takes off before Zayn can gather his thoughts enough to reply. He watches him go, a head of blond glowing a little in the dark street. Zayn runs his tongue over his lip, sharp minty aftertaste making him blink. Then he turns on his heel and grinds his teeth.

For Harry's sake, he hopes Liam answered the booty call. Maybe then Zayn won't go to jail for murder.

* * *

The speakers behind the coffee bar are playing something blues-y and most of the tables are occupied by students sleeping in front of their Macs. Zayn adjusts the backpack with his skateboard on his shoulder and scans the chalkboard behind the register; if he’s going to do this, swallow his pride and admit he was a dick, he needs a peace offering. The guy in front of him orders something complicated that has the barista cracking her knuckles. When it’s his turn, he smiles tightly at the girl. She blinks, thrown by something, and smiles back tentatively.

Ten minutes and twelve donuts later, he heads out again and walks to the bus stop on 11th. It’s full when it arrives - school kids heading back home and people in suits, their noses buried in paperwork - and Zayn navigates his way to the back, squeezing between a kid listening to Childish Gambino on his headphones and an old lady drooling onto her shoulder. Any other day, he’d complain about it, probably abuse every passenger to an unsympathetic Louis. Today, he takes it, because maybe he deserves a little discomfort.

It takes forty minutes to get Southwest and it’s almost dark by the time he gets off. He rolls his shoulders and makes a face at the residential homes around him; there’s a family sized SUV parked in every front yard and a bunch of kids are playing soccer in the driveway closest to him. Niall’s house doesn’t stand out in the neighborhood; it has the same wide yard as the rest and the same pointed roof lit up softly from inside. There’s a giant beech tree hovering over the porch, strings of lights hanging off the branches, probably since Christmas. Niall’s bike is locked to the railings and there’s a blanket thrown on the bench by the door, a tea stained mug left on the floor. He can hear music faintly from inside; someone’s scratching on a guitar.

He stands awkwardly outside the white wooden door, fingers tapping on the edge of the box of donuts. He kind of hopes Niall’s parents aren’t in; he’s not sure how he’d introduce himself. He's met him all of three times and shoved his tongue down his throat twice. That would be a great way to endear himself to the family.

Finally he psychs himself up and raises a fist. He knocks once, quietly and the guitar keeps playing from inside; he thinks it might be coming from the basement. Then he knocks louder, clenching his teeth to pluck up the courage. The guitar twangs suddenly and Zayn watches as a light switches on and a shadow makes its way toward the door. It swings open with a creak and then Zayn is staring at Niall in his natural element. Zayn doesn’t get speechless often, but suddenly Niall is there, in front of him, after Zayn was a fucking asshole. That’s enough to leave him tongue tied.

“I - Zayn?” Niall’s scratches his head, fluffing his hair until it stands ridiculously high. He’s in a tank top and joggers and he’s got a toothpick hanging out of his mouth. He looks comfortable, even as he’s frowning down at Zayn. Zayn realizes with a jolt that Niall’s taller than him.

“Um. Hi.” It’s probably the lamest thing that’s ever come out of Zayn’s mouth and he’s dated art students, so that’s gotta count for something. His tongue feels heavy and for a second, he forgets completely why he’s here. He blinks up at Niall and then looks down and thankfully, there’s something in his hands that prompts him to talk again. “I brought you - donuts.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “You came all the way up here to - gimme donuts?”

Zayn clears his throat. “Um. Yeah.” Somewhere in the corner of his mind there’s a voice telling him to stop being a fucking loser, and it sounds suspiciously like Harry. “And to. Apologise. Please take the donuts.” He thrusts his arms out and shoves the box at Niall. Niall stares at it for a long while and Zayn could’ve sworn he saw his jaw twitch, almost like he’s trying not to smile.

“There’s enough to feed a small army here, Zayn,” he says slowly, not taking it from him.

“I don’t know what you like,” Zayn mumbles. He shuts his mouth, then opens it again to say - what, exactly? _I don't know anything about you except that you buy spearmint toothpaste and you like a whisky sour and you kiss like you know what you're doing._ It would probably come off as too strong so he seals his lips together again and waits.

Niall stares at him. Then, his expression breaks and he laughs, a deep, belly laugh that makes his shoulders shake. When he’s done, he swings the door open more and steps to the side. “Cool,” he says simply. “C’mon in. My mom’s not home.”

Zayn keeps holding on to the donuts and steps inside, almost tripping over the line of shoes barring the door. Most of them are Niall’s, clearly; scuffed Chucks and faded Nikes, a messenger bag spilling notes and keys onto the floor. The living room is to Zayn’s right; comfy dad armchair and old sofa and a mess of more Niall things everywhere. To his left is a wall of Horan family memorabilia; Niall growing up in each frame, on his brother’s shoulders, in the middle of the family Christmas photo, at fifteen swinging a baseball bat and winking at the camera. Suddenly, Zayn’s overwhelmed by how much this feels like home; his home, back in Chicago, with his sisters and his parents, warm and smelling like something’s cooking on the stove. He relaxes almost instantly.

Niall’s heading to the door that leads to the basement. Zayn follows him down the steps, squinting to adjust to the dim light coming from the bare bulb. It’s a bit of a shock once he’s finally there; clearly this is where Niall lives. There’s a poster for the Portland Timbers hanging on the far end of the room, with clippings of season tickets pinned to it; the small window that’s barely on street level has a bunch of dying flowers in a vase that Zayn’s sure is Niall’s mom’s attempt to make the place livable; his bed’s unmade in the middle, plaid sheets tangled in a ball and pooling over the edge; the only semi-tidy space in the entire room is a small laminated table that looks like something out of a 50s diner. Niall’s computer is stacked on a pile of books, speakers underneath, and two guitars lined against the wall.

He swallows for some reason as he looks around. It feels awfully personal, being here; like Niall’s let him into something important. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed gingerly and watches Niall tap at his keyboard. He’s reading a sheet of incomprehensible musical notes; Zayn realizes it was Niall playing the music he heard from outside. A chuckle bubbles inside his chest and he thinks, _why’s it always musicians._

“Sorry,” Niall says finally when he twists around, guitar on his lap, to face Zayn. “I gotta learn this by, like, seven.” It’s a quarter to.

Zayn wants to ask but - that's not why he's here. He takes a deep breath. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was a complete asshole to you. You were trying I help and I just - flew off the handle and it wasn’t your fault, at all, only - I was surprised and Harry just does things sometimes and I was hurt because of - fucking Toby -"

“Hey! Zayn, hey!” Niall raises his voice, louder than Zayn, so he can interrupt him properly. Zayn clamps his mouth shut. “It’s cool. Seriously. I get it.”

Zayn has to talk. “Yeah, but, Niall -”

Niall lifts a hand and Zayn shuts up. “Seriously. I mean, yeah, I was, like, only trying to help -”

Zayn’s heart drops to his feet. “Fuck, Niall, I’m s-”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I will punch you, yeah?” He pauses, like he’s waiting for something and Zayn nods, once. “It’s cool. I’m over it. Apology accepted, or whatever.”

Zayn exhales and bites his lip. “Are you sure?”

Niall smiles and it eases something inside Zayn. “I’m sure. Honestly.” They look at each other and Zayn can’t help it, he smiles too, because it’s easy. It’s really easy - too easy - to smile at Niall.

"Harry texted me before you came, y'know," Niall says tentatively. That wipes the grin right off Zayn's face.

"That little - I told him not to get involved -"

Niall laughs, loud enough to stop Zayn's tirade. "Are you two still pretending you're mad at each other?"

"Oh, I'm mad alright -"

"He wanted to make sure I was still on board. With the whole, y'know." Niall makes a kissy face. "You and me."

Whatever little frustration he felt toward Harry, seeps out instantly. Damn him to hell for looking out for Zayn. “That’s not why I came -” Zayn rushes to say and Niall’s laughing again.

“Chill, man, I know."

Zayn licks his lips. "So. Like. Are you?" He hadn't realized how much he wants Niall to say yes.

Niall frowns at him. "Of course," he says simply. They look at each other for a long moment, and then Niall claps his hands together. “So. Let’s see what kinda horrible shit you got me.”

He eats them all, making more exaggerated faces than a simple jelly donut warrants and it’s fun. It’s like hanging out with Louis or Liam, or even Harry, and Zayn hates that he didn’t see it before. It could’ve saved them all some of his idiocy if he’d tried to be Niall’s friend before all this.

“Listen, I need to head downtown,” Niall starts saying, thin layer of powdered sugar coating his upper lip. It makes Zayn want to giggle again.

“That’s fine, yeah, I should probably get home too.” Zayn stands up, shrugging into his jacket. Niall doesn’t bother with anymore layers, just grabs his Mac and his guitar and bounds up the stairs.

“I could take you,” he’s saying by the time Zayn follows him up, tying his shoelaces in the hallway. He has his messenger bag and the guitar strapped to his back. “Shotgun?”

Zayn opens his mouth to say yes, then he stops himself, frowning. “There was no car in the driveway.”

Niall cackles. “Not that kind of shotgun.”

It doesn't quite dawn on him what Niall means until they're outside.

“No.”

Zayn shakes his head to make sure he gets the point across. Niall doesn’t seem to be listening; he just unlocks his bike and puts the lock in his bag. He throws his helmet at Zayn, who catches it out of reflex.

“I don’t think you heard me, bro,” Zayn says again, walking up close and looking at the bike like it’s about to bare its fangs. “I’m not getting on this bike with you. Isn’t that illegal?”

Niall shrugs. “Well, if you wanna get all technical.”

“I do,” Zayn says, and he can hear the slight hysterical note to his voice. He coughs gruffly. “I want to get _really_ technical about this.”

“It’s fine, man. I know a back way.”

Which is the least reassuring thing ever.

Niall mounts first, sans helmet - “I mean, I do have a second one, but it’s like ten years old and has Spongebob on it. Neither of us are cool enough to pull that off.” He doesn’t sit on the seat, just plants his feet either side and holds onto the handlebar steady. “Get the fuck on, Malik.”

Zayn breathes out shakily and straps the stupid helmet on his head. His hair flattens over his eyes and he pushes it away; at the very least, if he’s going to die, his hair is going to look decent. He swings his leg over the bike and sits down, suddenly very aware that the last time he rode a bike he was in middle school.

“Okay, now hold onto me and put your feet on the rear axles -”

“The _what?”_

Niall snorts. “It’s like teaching my nephew to ride all over again. On, like, the back wheel. Yeah, there, you got it. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I should call my mom and tell her I love her.”

“You should do that anyway, moms appreciate that kinda thing. And we’re not gonna die. Ready?”

Zayn tightens his grip on Niall’s sides and feels the muscle there jump until he can make out Niall’s ribcage. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Good enough for me.” And then, no warning at all, Niall takes off.

It's fall, in Portland, so the weather's cool enough that you can get away with a shirt and nothing more. The way Niall's speeding though, twisting and turning between backroads, veering off track until all Zayn can see is a blur of green, Zayn can feel his teeth chattering. He breathes out, watching his breath crystallize in front of him and gives in, burying his face between Niall’s shoulder blades. He’s warm, like his body’s radiating enough heat for the both of them and the entire road smells of pine and rain and smoke. He supposes there are worst places he could be.

They get downtown just as the rush hour traffic hits its peak. They're less conspicuous than they would be here; it feels kind of anonymous, winding through the streets along with about a hundred other, more beardy cyclists. When they turn into Bellmont, Niall goes slow until he brakes on a curb. Zayn gets off, a little wobbly on his feet and passes Niall the helmet to tie on the bike as he pushes along. He fixes his hair in a store window, fully aware that Niall's watching him.

"What," he says indignantly.

Niall's trying not to laugh. "You don't need to do that, y'know. You're like, really hot. Hat hair or no hat hair."

Zayn colors. He's not sure why, because it's not exactly something he's never heard of before. "Thanks. I think."

"It's a compliment," Niall shrugs.

They walk side by side in companionable silence.

"We should probably, like, set some ground rules," Niall says, breaking it. Zayn looks up from his phone; Harry's texted him about thirty times, using every iteration of a question mark available.

"Ground rules?"

"Yeah. Or like. A backstory. How long have we been going out? Are we even dating? Do I call you _bae?"_

Zayn winces. "Definitely no to the last one."

Niall's grinning at him. "You're bad at this."

"Bad at what?" He's not sure why he chooses to sound indignant.

"Pretending. Aren't you?"

Zayn frowns a little, stopping when Niall does in front of a slightly run down Catholic Church. He's not used to people figuring him out so easily. "Yeah. I guess I am." He shrugs. "I like being honest."

Niall nods like Zayn just confirmed what he already knew. "Okay, then. No rules. But we should practice. We can't just jump into this blind. Especially if we're going to that thing next week."

"What - what thing?" He panics for a second and his mind starts playing out a scenario where Harry has orchestrated a date with tailcoats and a Celine Dion soundtrack.

Niall's locking his bike on the railings surrounding the church, kneeling on the gravel to check the tires. When he's done, he brushes off his thighs and stands up, slipping the guitar off his back to hold in his hands. "The radio thing? The one your boy didn't invite me to?"

So he had noticed. Zayn had completely forgotten about that. "You're - you really wanna come to that?"

Niall lifts a shoulder. "Sure. I love hanging out at KPSU. Harry always lets me choose a coupla songs. And your boy's band is not bad."

"He's not my -" Zayn shakes his head. He wants to go, is the thing. If nothing else, because it's safe and Harry will be there. If he's honest, because it's starting to get at him like an itch, that he and Toby are sharing a postal code and he hasn't seen him since running into him at the grocery store. "Okay, yeah. If you're sure."

Niall slaps his back twice. "'Course I am. Now, c'mon, I'm fifteen minutes late, Sam's gonna be organising a mutiny."

Zayn doesn't have the time to protest before he's being pushed up the church steps. When they're inside, he can't strike up the nerve to ask because it's cold and stony and daunting and Zayn's never exactly been fond of churches. Niall doesn't have an issue though; he doesn't let go of Zayn, curving his hand over one of Zayn's shoulders, and nods a greeting to the pastor Zayn hadn't noticed. "Yo, Father!"

The pastor inclines his head before returning to his phone and waves them off toward a door to the right. Niall seems at ease, walking them both and opening the heavy door. It's more human in here; there's lights leading to the basement and the sound of multiple instruments playing a familiar tune. Zayn finds his voice again.

"Isn't that -"

"Oh my fucking god," Niall hisses with no concept of blasphemy and finally slips his hand from Zayn.

The basement is warm, unlike the church on top of it. The space heaters probably help, and the huge, multicolored cushions thrown over the floor. There's a table close to the entrance that has a jug of juice and instant coffee and a pile of cookies that look homemade. Around the curved walls, Zayn notices amps and wires and sound equipment he recognizes vaguely but couldn't put a name to. And in the middle, weirdest of all, is a bunch of teenagers, all looking appropriately moody and murderous. One of them, a black girl of about fifteen wearing a hockey shirt, gives him the stink eye, looking at him up and down. Zayn responds in the only appropriate way to deal with teenagers and gives her as good as he’s getting. After a couple of seconds of this staredown, she shrugs and goes back to ignoring his existence.

He counts it as a win.

“Niall.” He sidles up to him, digging his chin into Niall’s shoulder. Niall’s staring at an old PC that’s balanced precariously on a speaker in abject horror; there’s a playlist of Macklemore videos queued up on YouTube. “What are we doing here?”

“Educating the youth of America,” Niall says, frantically clicking the tabs closed. He looks up at the girl Zayn noticed before; she looks like the ringleader. “Or trying to. Sam, are you trying to ruin my reputation?”

She grins and flicks her hair at him. “I know how much you love the Mack, Mr Horan.”

Zayn snorts; he can’t help it. Sam throws him another unamused look and, by the looks of it, Niall blushes crimson. “It’s a sign of respect, man.”

“Yeah, I can totally see how much they respect you.”

Niall bats his side. “Right,” he claps his hands to get the attention of the room but keeps himself still enough that Zayn doesn’t have to move. “In a circle, everybody, c’mon. We’ve got a guest to impress.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, strumming her guitar pointedly as she takes a seat to Niall’s right. “Better not do Wonderwall, then.”

Niall shoots her a look. “Wonderwall is a musical masterpiece.”

She yawns. Zayn goes back to laughing again.

“Who is he, anyway?” She’s got her bored expression down to an art.

Niall pulls up a couple of chairs for him and Zayn and starts tuning his guitar. “A friend,” he says, tightening a flat note.

Some kid in a hoodie wolf whistles. Sam deigns to grin. “A friend. Sure.”

Niall clears his throat and doesn’t expand. “So, if we’re not doing Wonderwall -”

“Maybe we should do Boyfriend,” Sam says casually. Zayn has to hand it to her, she doesn’t hold back.

Niall plays with his pick. “And just for that, we’re gonna do the entire Journey discography.” The entire room groans in unison.

They do Journey and Van Morrison and every song Zayn associates with white dads having a midlife crisis. Niall puts down his guitar halfway through and takes a turn around the room, watching each of the kids play over their shoulder. Zayn watches him in turn; how he kneels down to each of their heights and shows them how to properly play a G chord, how he adjusts the guitar in one tiny girl’s lap, how he just sits and listens with a smile on his face when someone manages to get a whole chorus perfect. It reminds Zayn of him and his sisters and he’s hit by a pang of nostalgia for them; he makes a mental note to text them more.

At around nine, the pastor from before comes down and watches for a bit before pointing at his watch. Niall gives him a thumbs up and sets about tidying the room. The kids go up to him one by one and whisper at him before they leave and pack up their guitars; most of them acknowledge Zayn with a nod as they head out. The girl, Sam, actually walks up to him and sticks out her hand for him to shake. He takes it with a sense of achievement.

“You _are_ his boyfriend, aren’t you?”

Zayn sucks both his lips in his mouth. “What do you think?”

She shrugs. “I think you look like you are.” She makes a gagging gesture. “All the touching.”

Zayn feels a bit warm under the lights. He makes a loose fist with his hand and coughs into it. “Right. Um -”

“See ya,” Sam says, satisfaction etched on her face, her hair swaying as she rushes up the stairs. Zayn stares after her for a moment. Then he turns to Niall who’s folding up music sheets into his bag.

“So, you’re...a guitar teacher?” For his fake boyfriend, Zayn hasn’t made much effort to get to know him, all things considered. Niall squints his eyes at him, smiling.

“Technically, yeah. I mean, this is what I wanna do.” He shoulders his bag and looks around the room; Zayn can’t miss the pride making his eyes sparkle. “But I’m only volunteering here.”

“That’s still pretty - that’s kind of amazing.”

Niall shrugs. They head to the door. Somehow along the way, Zayn pries Niall’s bag away from him so he’s only carrying his guitar.

“It’s alright, I guess.” Zayn can tell he’s trying to be modest. They lock the door behind them and start walking through the dark church. Outside, the temperature’s dropped and the street lights are on. “Actually, no, I really like it. Better than my real job.” He makes a phone with his index and pinky finger. _“Hello, you’ve reached Horan Family Practice, how can I help you?”_

“Receptionist. Hot.”

Niall smiles at him. “I like to think so.”

It’s a short walk from Bellmont to Zayn’s street. Zayn rummages through his backpack, pulling out his massive set of keys, and then stands on the first step of his building. It’s the only time he’s towered over Niall.

"You can come up. Harry's probably home." Home and making out with Zayn's best friend if the last couple of weeks are anything to go by. Niall looks like he's guessing what's on Zayn's mind, judging by his smirk.

"I'd love to but I got work tomorrow. Tell Harry hey. And thanks," he pauses before he get on his bike, helmet on. "For coming today."

Zayn plays with his beard. "No, it was fun. Thanks for forgiving me."

"Nothing to forgive. Text me about the radio thing, yeah?" And he's off, ringing his bell before Zayn can reply.

He texts as he walks up the stairs in their building; Louis' having an existential crisis about becoming one half of those tattooed couples who walk around pushing a thousand dollar stroller. Zayn sends him the baby emoji about fifty times just to fuck with him.

“Honey!” he calls out, dumping his bag and jacket on the floor when he unlocks, and shielding his eyes. “I’m home! Please put any and all dicks away!"

"Fuck you," Harry yells pleasantly from the couch. He's still in his jeans, huddled under a blanket thanks to their fucked heating, watching something on his laptop. The kettle corn that ruined Zayn's life is keeping him company and Zayn can smell Palo Santo burning somewhere. "Liam's not here all the time, y'know."

"Coulda fooled me," Zayn says, flopping next to him and sharing the blanket. "What're we watching?"

"American Psycho. What?" Harry looks at Zayn's face, affronted. "I can go dark!"

"You haven't hit play."

"I'm working up to it," Harry huffs. He bites his lower lip. "So, hey. How'd it go? With Niall."

Zayn's not sure he gives his face permission to smile, but it happens anyway. "It's cool. He's cool."

Harry's smile is smug. "Cool. Admit I was right."

"I'm never doing that."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Whatever. What did you two do? You've been out for hours."

Zayn shrugs. He's not sure he wants to share, and he's not sure why. "Not a lot. He brought me back here. Y'know, what's it called when there's two people on a bike?"

Harry's face is blank. "Stupid?"

Zayn punches him on his arm. "Hit play. I want to hear you you scream."

"Better not let your boyfriend Niall hear you say that."

Zayn punches him in the balls. "Better stop talking or  _your_ boyfriend will be out of things to play with," he yells over Harry's howls.

* * *

Zayn clips his last order in front of the kitchen and waves to get the attention of one of the chefs. It takes a while, because it's insane in the restaurant and there's a mild distraction in the form of something alcoholic erupting in flames. Judging the crisis to be only minor, Zayn heads to the back just in case. There's always a fear of singeing his eyebrows at work.

He's one leg out of his black pants when one of the bartenders peers into the back room around the half-closed door. Zayn starts throwing cutlery at him.

“Asshole!”

“Is my fault I came to tell you you have some dick with dye job waiting for you!” The broken Greek accent makes him sound even more menacing.

“You are from fucking _Cincinnati,_ Ben!”

Ben gives him a middle finger. “I am here to offer an authentic Greek experience, fuck you.” He doesn’t even blink when he switches to Midwestern.

“Authentic Greek experience, my ass.”

Ben shakes his head. “No, thanks. Seriously, put it away.”

“I was changing!” Nonetheless, he hops back into his trouser leg because he can’t argue and look dignified when he’s pantsless. He tries to focus on the subject of conversation. “What did you say?”

“Put it away -”

“No, _dick_. Who’s waiting?”

Ben shrugs. “Some kid in a plaid shirt with no sleeves.”

“You realize you’ve described half the freshmen at PSU?” He tries to keep his voice even but he can hear the blood rushing to his head. Toby would know Zayn still works here; Toby used to come here after every show and they’d eat leftovers while Zayn did dishes in the back, singing to whatever pop song was on the radio at two in the morning. He breathes as evenly as he can and makes a concentrated effort not to let his hopes rise. But this could be it; Toby could’ve finally gotten a fucking clue and opened his eyes and realized he’d never actually stopped being in love with Zayn.

“Whatever, man. I came to deliver the message. I gotta return to my Greek God duties.”

Zayn’s too antsy to change now. He stuffs the clothes he came in in his backpack and checks his reflection in the restroom. All black everything has never been a bad look for him, thankfully. The shirt isn’t as wrinkled as it could be because the kitchens survive on steam. He rolls up his sleeves so his forearms are on display; Toby’s always had a thing for his tattoos and Zayn knows they look good on him. His hair’s a bit of a mess but whatever; he’s got one of Harry’s hair ties on his wrist so he uses that to pull it back and then shakes himself. He’s got this, even if his heart is doing a treacherous beat in his chest.

Ben nods him toward the entrance when he comes out. Zayn searches for dirty blond hair and Toby’s signature dirtbag grin but he can’t - oh. He swallows and remembers what day it is and remembers Harry telling him ‘see you later!’ before he came into work today. Niall raises a hand to wave at him and Zayn waves back, trying to push down the disappointment. Apparently, he’s still got to work for it.

“Hey, man,” Niall says when Zayn comes up to him. He claps him on his back and his grin looks genuine. Even despite the way Zayn’s feeling now, he can’t make himself bring it out on Niall. He looks good, he thinks distantly; the quintessential Portlander in his plaid and ripped at the knees jeans. His nose is tinged pink and there's blond stubble on his chin that looks soft.

He smiles back, smaller than Niall’s face-splitting one, and shoulders the door. It’s warm outside, even though it’s the tail end of September.

“No bike today?” Zayn comments after they’ve been walking a while in silence.

Niall laughs. “Something tells me we might be having a drink or two.” He raises an eyebrow. “Am I right?”

Zayn doesn’t answer.

The student union where the radio is based is only fifteen minutes away on foot. By the time they get there, there’s a buzz in the atmosphere and a dozen or so people are loitering by the entrance. Niall says hi to most of them; Zayn stays back, watching him give one-armed hugs and talking to them all like they’ve been best friends forever. He’s starting to realize Niall has that quality about him; people just like him and he likes them back and for a tiny, mad second Zayn feels a twinge of something like jealousy.

Almost like he’s read his mind, Niall looks back from where he’s talking to a couple of Alpha Kappa girls and reaches an arm behind his back. Zayn hesitates for a second before he takes it. Niall doesn’t let him hesitate too long though; his hand wraps around Zayn’s wrist and tugs lightly, until Zayn stumbles into Niall’s back and a snort bursts out of him. The girls smile at them indulgently.

“The band’s gonna be on in, like, a half hour? They’re setting up,” one of them says. “Harry’s on though.” She does a massive eye roll.

“Jesus, what’s he doing?”

The other girl sucks in her cheeks, trying not to laugh. “That dude, Liam? He’s with him. I think Harry’s tryna get in his pants.”

“Jesus,” Niall repeats, only this time he’s chuckling. “C’mon, we have to witness this.” He pulls on Zayn again and they navigate through the small crowd, heading to the subbasement. The sound of Wale rapping _bed, floor, couch, more_ greets them when they get down to the studio and Zayn snorts again, because that is clearly Harry’s 'songs to have sex to' playlist. He searches for Liam, just to see how traumatized he is.

Harry has his headphones on and he’s playing with the fader in front of him, typing out something on the keyboard of his laptop. Zayn can tell he’s trying to look nonchalant about Liam watching him but for all the fact that Harry’s made an art of being cool by absolutely not being cool at all, he keeps making eye contact with Liam and ducking down to smile. It’s sweet and disgusting and when Niall elbows him, eyebrows raised, Zayn knows exactly what he means.

There’s a pause between tracks and Harry leans in to the microphone to introduce the next song and Zayn hears it then; the twang of a newly tuned guitar in the next room. He flinches and Niall nods to their left, where they can see the band huddled over Paul’s drums. Toby looks half asleep, leaning on his mic stand, but Margot’s there to keep him up, an arm around his waist. Zayn tears his eyes away from them.

“Fuck,” he says quietly. It suddenly seems really stupid, all of this; Toby on the other side of the glass with a girl he’s with, _actually_ with, and Zayn here, with Niall still holding his hand. “Maybe I should go.”

“Hey,” says Niall brusquely. Zayn’s very aware of his hand suddenly. Niall slips it down his arm to intertwine their fingers, his thumb pressing hard on the bones of Zayn’s wrist. "We’ve got this, okay? Let’s go and steal a beer out of the stash they’ve got here because I know for a fact no one does their shows sober.”

Liam joins them with a tallboy, miraculously blushing only a little bit when Niall and Zayn both raise their eyebrows. "He was looking for you, y'know," Liam says quietly, as they watch Harry introduce the next show. He nods at the band; they've got a few fans clamoring over them now and Toby looks completely in his element. "Came over to say hey, which he seriously never bothered to do when you were actually dating."

"Because he was scared of Louis." It's true; Louis is kind of terrifying when he wants to be.

Liam shrugs. "He asked me about _you."_ He points his bottle at Niall.

Zayn straightens up. "Really?"

Niall whistles. "Result. Told you, bro." His expression falls suddenly. "Hey, c'mere for a sec." They're standing opposite each other, so Zayn only has to take a step. Niall reaches out with his free hand and wipes the top of Zayn's lip. "Foam in the beard." He looks pointedly to his right for a blink of an eye and Zayn follows.

Toby's watching, expression stormy. Zayn does the only thing he can and waves.

"I can't believe this is actually working," Liam whispers.

"It was my idea, of course it's working, _Liam."_ Harry shakes his hair as he comes out of the studio and crosses his arms to look unimpressed. Liam just looks pleased to see him. Niall makes a gagging sound.

Harry greets Zayn with a soft head butt. "They're on now, if you wanna listen. We can go inside?"

Zayn opens his mouth, then shakes his head, 'no'. It feels safer out here.

"You okay," Niall mutters in his ear while the small crowd around the band claps for the next song. Through the corner of his eye, Zayn can see Margot whoop the loudest and make her way between everyone to get to Toby. The muscles in Zayn's belly clench.

He turns minutely toward Niall and finds him a breath away. For a second he hesitates; he does, honestly, because this is the moment that will make it. He licks his lips and wishes he'd drunk more already.

It's the third kiss and Zayn didn't realize he'd been counting. The first one was nothing; it was angry and stupid and drunk and heartbroken. The second was more of the same. This time, Zayn makes it count.

He slides his free hand behind Niall's neck, burying his fingers in the tufts of hair that curl at the nape. He doesn't mean to pull but it's instinct and Niall goes with it, resisting just enough to make himself grunt. Zayn presses his mouth closed on Niall's, kissing warm, chapped lips until Niall parts them and Zayn uses his hand to pull him in. He sucks on his lower lip and - there it is again, mint, like Niall's been waiting for this. It spurs Zayn on, makes him kiss Niall deeper until he touches his tongue and Niall opens up properly. There's a pool of white hot something in Zayn's chest and it makes him not want to stop.

Someone clears their throat and Zayn blinks, remembering where he is and who he's with and why. He pulls back, panting and locks eyes with Niall. He's pink, from the apples of his cheeks to his chest and his hair looks mussed. He looks good, Zayn allows himself to think for a moment, and remembers Niall coming out of the stall at _Gibson's_. He looks like that, but better.

Harry coughs again and Zayn looks up at him, and follows his gaze. Through the glass, the band's still playing but Toby is staring right at Zayn, his knuckles white over the mic. Zayn licks his lips again and stares back.

"I need another drink," he says, downing the rest of his beer.

* * *

Zayn can't remember the last time he woke up at his leisure, no alarm clock blaring in his ear and no Harry singing loud and off-key from the shower. When he finally opens his eyes, it takes him a long moment to find his bearings and he has to squint at the sun sneaking in through the window. Somewhere above him, he can hear stairs creaking and the slow murmur of people trying to be quiet. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and rolls until his face is smushed into the pillow, revelling in the fact that it's a Sunday and he's in bed and he's got absolutely fuck all to do. He breathes in happily, a smile spreading across his face; the scent of fresh laundry tickles his nose.

That's what does it; the fresh laundry. He frowns into the pillow and lifts his head minutely, staring down at the bed. He thinks back, to the last time he went to the launderette well over a month ago. There's no way Harry would do him a favor and not tell him about it. He turns around, slowly, and takes in his surroundings. Oh.

For a horrifying second, he doesn't remember where he is. He panics, because he hasn't done this since college and it wasn't that fun to begin with, waking in a stranger's bed with shit for memory. Then he sits up and shakes his head, reevaluating. He's got the slight bruised feeling of a hangover hanging above his head and he's mercifully still in his clothes - his skinny jeans are worn and loose over his thighs and there's cigarette smoke clinging to his shirt -  and it hits him only when he bothers to turn and inspect the room he's in. It's the Timbers poster that does it; he blinks at it, wonders why the fuck he's sleeping in the same room as a soccer fan and then laughs at himself as it all comes flooding back.

"What're you so happy about this fine, cold as balls Oregon morning?"

Zayn shifts his gaze from the poster to the stairs and his smile doesn't slip. Niall's there, on the last step, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. He's in basketball shorts and odd socks and he's smirking at Zayn with a toothpick hanging out of his mouth like this might be the best part of his day. Zayn grabs his pillow - the pillow he slept on, and flings it at him. Niall ducks and dodges it expertly, letting out a single loud cackle when it hits the door at the top of the stairs.

"If it's cold as balls, why the fuck aren't you wearing a shirt, you maniac? Put it - away!" He punctuates the last with Niall's pillow this time and manages to graze his ear. Niall makes a show of howling in pain.

Zayn laughs because he's clearly an idiot and lays back down on the bed, trying to fend off the headache. Too much physical exertion, too soon after he's woken up. He shuts his eyes for a second and only opens them when he can see a shadow moving behind his eyelids. He bats his eyelashes for no reason and looks up at Niall. He's frowning.

"Thanks, man. For this. Letting me sleep over." He means for it to come across as nonchalant but he's still got morning voice and smoker voice and it might sound a little like he's been overthinking. Niall's frown loosens and he focuses again on Zayn.

"Hey, it was fun. Even just for your boy's face when we left together. Which was awesome."

Something twists in Zayn at the sound of Niall referring to Toby as 'his boy' but it's too early to do anything than file it away. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Uh huh," Niall's saying while he rearranges the pillows back into place; one sits snugly at the crown of Zayn's head. "And you're welcome to stay here, yeah? Anytime."

"Still." Zayn shrugs. "Thanks."

Niall nods, scratching his belly absentmindedly. Zayn - out of reflex - follows his hand to the happy trail peaking out of the waistband of his shorts. "Eyes up here, Malik."

"As if." Zayn doesn't blush, he just snorts and kicks out weakly, aiming at Niall's groin. Niall's too quick though - again - and grabs his ankle tightly. He thrashes about ineffectually until Niall squeezes again and lets go.

"I came down to see if you wanted breakfast? Mom's gone to Sunday mass, so it's just us."

"I don't really do breakfast." Zayn swings his feet off the bed and stands, body swaying precariously. He covers the mother of all yawns with the back of his hand. Niall's frown is back.

"In this house, you do. Ma'll go apeshit if she finds out I didn't feed you." He bounds up the staircase, two at a time. "And there's clean shirts in the laundry basket. You smell like a brewery!" His voice echoes from the hall upstairs.

There's no point in taking offense - because it's totally true - so Zayn just sighs and rummages through the neatly folded clothes at the bottom of Niall's bed. He picks out a shirt with the least offensive logo, a black Portland State shirt, and pulls it over himself. It's a little baggy on his chest and it's weird, again, how he never seemed to have realized that Niall was that much bigger. His stomach a little unsettled, probably with alcohol making its way into his bloodstream, he takes the stairs. He's a little less enthusiastic about it than Niall.

He follows his nose (and the coffee) to the kitchen. Niall is expertly cracking eggs on the side of a pan but his attention is diverted to the soccer match playing on the tv. When he nearly empties the yolk in the trash - a last minute save thanks to someone diving spectacularly on the field and making him pause - Zayn steps in and takes over the pan. He gives Niall a slight shove to the side and smiles with his eyes squinting shut. "Omelette?"

"Rancheros," mutters Niall, already distracted by the game. He doesn't quite give Zayn space, just stands close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off him. No wonder he always dresses like he never feels the cold; he's running as hot as a furnace. Zayn must have been completely trashed not to have noticed yesterday.

When the eggs are done, Niall presents him with the dishes. Zayn flips the eggs onto the tortillas and grabs the coffee press, steering them both toward the table. By the time they've sat down, Niall's missed his mouth twice.

"Honestly, dude, do I have to feed you myself?" Zayn sighs, all exasperated, and shoves the loaded fork into Niall's mouth. "I'm feeling neglected."

Something happens on screen that makes Niall yell strangledly and bits of egg go flying. "Sorry," he says, voice muffled, and turns finally at Zayn. There's bits of yellow egg stuck to his chin. It's the funniest thing Zayn's ever seen.

"Fuck, wait a sec- okay, okay, say cheese." He has his phone out, camera ready, and Niall's in focus, looking eggy and disgusting.

"Queso," Niall mumbles through his mouthful and Zayn snaps the picture.

"Priceless." He pulls it up on his screen; it's a nice photo, despite Niall's mediocre table manners. Niall across the table swallows finally.

"Gimme."

"What?"

"Your phone, hand it over!" When Zayn doesn't, Niall pouts. "C'mon, man, when have I given you reason not to trust me?"

Suspicious to the very end, Zayn slides his phone over and watches Niall tap at it. "Don't you dare delete it, Horan, or so help me -"

"Done," Niall says a minute later, chucking the phone in Zayn's lap.

"What's done, what did you do." The photo's still in his camera roll.

"Infaram," Niall spits out. Zayn could kick him. "Instagram," he says again, enunciating for effect.

Zayn pulls up the app - he hardly ever uses it anymore, there's only so many filtered landscapes you can pretend to enjoy - and scans it for his latest post. There's Niall, in pastel, egg dripping down his chin.

_niazkilam: how do u like ur eggs in the morning ;)_

Harry's already commented three times - that's Harry for you - but Zayn, curious, scrolls down through his news feed. _bensontoby92_ was apparently liking pictures 43 seconds ago. Anticipation curls in Zayn's belly. He looks up and raises his eyebrows at Niall. "Quick on your feet, aren't you?"

Niall gives him a smile that's more egg than tooth. "I try."

* * *

Zayn's not entirely sure how he's been roped into spending his day off picking pumpkins. Or rather, he is; he's just not sure why he agreed to it. Eleanor is doing Halloween for the kids she teaches at her school and Louis has been stuck in that lovesick honeymoon period of their relationship where he can't say no to her for about three years now. Which of course means Zayn is woken up in the morning by a sleepwalking Harry falling on top him and waving his phone in Zayn's face. Zayn pushes him off, still stubbornly clinging on to sleep, and for a second he thinks he's won, because it's quiet again, other than Harry's soft snores.

Then Harry's phone starts vibrating against Zayn's face and Zayn pushes him to the floor, burrowing under his blankets. There's a loud thump that has to hurt and Harry yelps, kicking the leg of Zayn's bed. "You are never even looking at my dick again, Liam Payne."

Zayn registers Harry murmuring with the tiny part of his brain that's woken up enough to regain cognitive function. He doesn't catch anything that makes sense though, because he's more interested in passing out again.

"Zayn."

"Mmph."

"Zayn." This time Harry shakes him and Zayn feels a dip on the other side of his bed as Harry sits down. "C'mon, we've got to pick up Louis."

Zayn scowls into his pillow. Nothing makes sense when the sun is barely halfway up the sky. "Wha'?"

For someone who's trying to wake him up, Harry's doing a pathetic job of it. He's draping himself over Zayn now and Zayn can feel his eyelashes drooping on his neck. Left to their own devices, there's probably a good chance they'd spend half their lives sleeping.

He pokes Harry's middle to bring him back to consciousness. Harry grunts.

"What're you talking about," Zayn mutters, sounding like he's swallowed gravel.

Harry make an effort to raise his head and blink at Zayn. There are pillow crease marks all over his face. "Was Liam. I hate him."

Zayn nods. He can relate. "What's he want?"

"Someone called Eleanor wants us to go pick pumpkins."

Zayn groans. "Tell Louis to pick his own fucking pumpkins."

"I'm the one with the car," Harry mutters. He sounds like he bitterly regrets the investment.

They get into Harry's car half an hour later, with a thermos of coffee the only thing keeping Zayn from sneaking off into bed again. He sits in the back, eyes closed, while Harry - looking unfairly awake - navigates them to Louis' place. Zayn pays no attention to the drive; he only realizes Liam and Louis have joined them when Louis starts kicking his shin for attention.

"No," Zayn mumbles.

"Please, Zayn," Louis says pitifully. "I'm feeling neglected."

Zayn opens one eye and squints at the front seats; they're driving through a patch of road that's just dense trees and there's frost around the edges of the windscreen. Harry's behind the wheel, holding it loosely under his flat palm, but he's not even pretending to look at the road. Zayn knees the back of his seat. Harry jumps and turns away from staring into Liam's eyes to glare at Zayn.

"The fuck was that for?"

"Can you please not crash the car while I'm in it?"

Harry turns back to the front but still eyes Zayn through the mirror. "I am an excellent driver."

"You're three seconds from fucking Liam on the dashboard."

"Hey," puts in Liam, not looking as insulted as he might.

Louis sighs. "Relationships are so much better than whatever you two are doing right now."

Zayn and Liam groan collectively. "What," ask the other two, Harry curiously, Louis indignantly.

"I'm going back to sleep. Wake me up after he's called Eleanor to tell her she's perfect." Zayn lies down pointedly again.

"I don't _do_ that."

"Don't kick me!"

"Harry, you're going the wrong way," says Liam mildly, and Zayn and Louis both stop bickering enough to check.

"I told you to stop eyefucking Liam, Harry," yells Zayn.

"What did you do to him, Payne?" No one misses the grudging admiration in Louis' voice. Liam blushes. Harry has a smug grin on his face.

Zayn should invest in a lock in his bedroom.

"We're not going the wrong way, thanks for the vote of confidence, Liam. We're picking up Niall."

Zayn feels more awake suddenly. "Why's Niall coming?"

"Niall needs pumpkins too, Zayn. It's not all about you."

Zayn kicks Harry's seat again.

"I have a goddamn bad back!"

"He does, you know," Liam says, because Liam is suddenly Harry's mother.

"Actually, this is sort of cute," Louis says, looking between Harry and Liam proudly. "Reminds me of me and -"

"If you say Eleanor's name, I swear to god I will throw you into the oncoming traffic," Zayn hisses. They've parked at the end of the street Zayn recognizes. He can see Niall pedaling toward them.

Louis has screwed his face into its most offended. "Liam!" He shouts suddenly.

Liam jumps in his seat. Niall opens the door on Zayn's side of the car. "Gentlemen."

They all ignore him. Louis pats Liam's shoulder. "Congratulations. You're my new best man."

"Wow, I'm really hurt," Zayn says in as bored a voice as he can manage.

"I feel like I've interrupted something," Niall says slowly.

Liam laughs. "Not really. Louis' just bitching at Zayn."

Louis gasps and turns to Harry. "You! Curly! How'd you feel about weddings?"

"Love 'em."

Zayn can't say he's surprised.

"Right, well, new best friend. The rest of you can get the hell out, me and Curls are going pumpkin picking."

Zayn pushes Louis toward the car door so he can scoot in and make room for Niall. "Can we please fucking go? My coffee's gone cold."

Harry starts the car again. Louis leans over. "So, I'm thinking matching bow ties, Curls."

By the time they get to Plumper Pumpkin Patch, Louis has forgiven Zayn, much to Harry's probably genuine disappointment. They jump out of the Range Rover one by one and Zayn makes a face at the squelching sound as his boots sink in the mud. They're not the only people in Portland who've decided it's a good day to pick a pumpkin; there's twenty or so other cars parked around them with kids screeching as they wind through the field. Niall goes to grab everyone a drink and the rest of them start walking.

"We're getting one from the vines, right?" Harry says, clapping his hands. He looks more delighted than the average five year old.

"I don't know what that means, but I want that one," says Louis, pointing at one that several small children are climbing over. Both Harry and Louis grin at each other and walk purposefully toward it.

"That's probably not a good idea, is it," mutters Liam. His smile is too affectionate for Zayn to believe he cares all that much.

"Watch the face or I'm not letting you near Harry again," Zayn warns. Liam pouts.

"Anyone for coffee?"

Zayn turns to Niall with his arms wide open and cups the coffee in his hands reverently. Liam goes on ahead to steer Harry and Louis away from making any children cry.

"So, what's the story with Harry and your pal, then?" Niall nods in Liam's direction.

"They're 'casual'," Zayn's scoffs, liberal with the use of air quotes.

"Bullshit."

They stand at the edge of the field, watching Harry and Louis load Liam with pumpkins of every size.

"So," says Niall. Zayn looks at him.

"So."

"How's it hanging," Niall grins. "How's life, Zayn?"

Zayn sips his coffee. "Toby hasn't shown any signs of life since the last time I saw you."

Niall's face falls. He lifts his Ray Bans to stare at Zayn incredulously. "Seriously? After our frankly breathtaking performance?"

Zayn, bummed though he is at being reminded how unbelievably crap his love life is, has to laugh.

"I was expecting him to crawl back to you." Even through his shades, Zayn can see Niall stealing a glance at him. He elbows Zayn's side softly. "Hey. It's gonna work out, y'know. For the record, I can't see how he broke up with you in the first place."

Zayn chuckles. "Thanks, man."

"I'm serious. You're cool, Zayn. Even aside from the, you know. Face."

Zayn barks out a laugh, louder his time. "Your face isn't bad either."

Niall looks pleased. "I'm a catch."

Zayn doesn't argue. He thinks he probably did luck out with his choice of a pretend boyfriend.

They find a stack of hay where most of the adults seem to be congregating at and sit down side by side. Zayn checks WhatsApp, an unfortunate habit he's developed lately. Toby was on fifteen minutes ago. Zayn thumbs around the app for a bit, feeling bitter; his only consolation is that Toby's profile picture hasn't changed in a year. It's still the one Zayn took when Calico Jack did their first sold out gig in Portland. Toby's leaning down from the stage, sweaty and ecstatic, making an exaggerated kissy face at Zayn's phone. Zayn had grabbed him by the lapels after and kissed him until they were both dizzy and then Toby had played the encore and couldn't stare anywhere other than at Zayn.

It's that that spurs him on. He scrolls down until he finds Paul's number. _hey man, been too long. We shd catch up ! :) :) :)_

Paul texts back immediately, because Paul is a decent human and his phone is an extension of his arm most of the time. _For sure broooooo. Gonna head to the coast tmrrw.how does a hike sound ????_

Zayn doesn't particularly like the sea. He can't swim and it's cold, whatever the season and there's absolutely no point to it. And a hike sounds absolute shit, if he's honest, but Zayn can't be picky at this point. He texts back to say yes and then turns to Niall, who's guffawing at their friends. Louis has taken upon himself to sit in the wheelbarrow and take selfies with Liam and Harry making faces in the background.

"Niall?" Zayn tugs at his sleeve.

Niall turns, smile too big for his face, and Zayn catalogs how it doesn't drop an inch when he looks at him. If anything, it grows wider. "Zayn," he says, voice deliberately low.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

Niall quirks an eyebrow. "I'm gonna guess you already know."

* * *

Zayn pulls his hoodie over his head and digs his feet more firmly in the sand. He’s still got his boots on - he’s not insane like the rest of them, kicking off their shoes as soon as they hit the beach. He likes his toes and he’d like to keep them, so he sticks close to the fire that someone’s lit and shields himself as best as he can from the breeze making the flames dance faster in front of him. Somewhere ahead of him he can hear a girl shrieking as the waves hit her; closer, someone’s phone is playing a whole lot of Fleetwood Mac; and he can smell cheese burning, like a tuna melt’s been left too close to the flames.

They’ve been at Cannon Beach since the morning; Paul and Toby and the rest got here last night and camped, and Zayn - after bullying Harry into it - took the Range Rover and Niall, along with an eager Louis and Eleanor, and followed. Harry and Liam had begged off, Liam because of an extra shift at work, Harry because he had a paper due on Monday. They all knew it was bullshit but no one called them out on it. Zayn thinks it’s best if they refrain from communicating with either of them today.

The hike - not much to Zayn’s surprise - was a disaster. Mostly because the band were hungover from last night, and Louis and Eleanor did that thing where they both decided they were suddenly experts and had a huge blow-out over crossing Silver Point at high tide. Zayn had resigned himself to dying on an unidentified forest trail by lunchtime and eventually everyone decided to head back to the beach, leaving Eleanor and Louis behind to explore nature. It’s almost seven now, and dark, and Zayn should probably be worried they haven’t gotten back yet. It might be a good thing though; watching El explain the failings of Google Maps to Louis was excruciating.

"Beer?"

Zayn looks up from his numb hands. Toby's standing over him, smirk stitched perfectly on his face, looking like the disheveled dream Zayn's been unfortunately in love with for the past two years. He reaches up for the beer, condensation making it slip in his hands. Toby's smirk widens and he sits down next to Zayn on the spot where Niall had been a few minutes ago. Which reminds Zayn. He glances around at the mad group of them who've decided that a swim is a totally normal thing to do in this temperature. Niall's climbing over Paul's shoulders, already more at ease with everyone than Zayn ever managed to be.

"Thanks," he murmurs, turning back to Toby. He's not smirking so much now; he'd seen where Zayn was looking. Something warm pools in the pit of Zayn's stomach. He's itching to reach out and grab Toby's hands in his own. He bites his lip instead and takes a sip of his flat beer.

It's quiet for a long time. Eventually, Toby leans back and stretches on the sand. Zayn keeps his eyes trained on the fire; he'd caught the sliver of skin of Toby's waistline when his shirt rucked up. He knows Toby; he knows it could have easily been on purpose.

The knuckle that presses against Zayn's arm confirms that.

He doesn't jump at the contact. Just barely, but he doesn't. He sighs out a breath, feels it stutter out from his throat. Toby laughs like he knows exactly what he's doing to Zayn.

"It's lonely down here, Zee. Come keep me company."

It's as easy as tugging on a shoelace, the way Toby is able to unravel Zayn. He goes down like a dead weight, shoulder to shoulder with Toby, until he turns his head and they're a breath apart. It would be romantic - if the sand underneath them wasn't damp and Toby wasn't drunk and, judging by the lingering scent, completely fucking high.

One of Toby's long fingers hook under Zayn's chin playfully. "You are so fucking hot, Zee."

Wet ground or not, the words make him squeeze his thighs together. He swallows and tries to get a hold of himself, shrugging. "I try."

Toby laughs. "You don't try at all." He licks his lips and Zayn can taste the weed he was smoking in the damp air. Distantly, he registers someone's phone blowing up and people talking closer to them. Toby's lips glisten with spit and Zayn wants to just -

"Just a sec, yeah?" Toby winks at him, pulling his phone out and answering it. He looks at Zayn the whole time. "Hey, M. How's it going?"

Zayn feels like choking. He stares at Toby a moment longer, then gets up, dusting off his jeans. There's more of them round the fire now, most of them blue and shivering. He spots Niall looking at him, sitting cross legged by the fire. His hair's wet and flat across his forehead and he looks like he's biting the inside of his cheek.

Zayn goes to Eleanor's backpack and rummages through until he finds a blanket. Without a backward glance at Toby, he makes his way to Niall and throws the blanket around him, tucking it under him until he's sure he's warm. Then he straddles the log he's sitting on and fits his arm around Niall's shoulders. "Better?"

Niall nods, his teeth chattering. "Much. What was that then?"

Zayn rubs a hand over Niall's shoulder blades, feeling him tremble underneath. "Hm?" He glances to where Niall was looking. Toby's off the phone now, and staring daggers at them both. "Nothing," Zayn says. He tries not to sound bitter.

Niall hums nonchalantly.

"Laugh," he says suddenly.

Zayn blinks over to him. "What?"

Niall grabs his knee and squeezes. It makes the muscle in Zayn's leg spasm. "Laugh," he says again, lower, quirking his eyebrow. "Like I've said something amazing and funny and you can't believe I exist in this world because I am just that fucking awesome."

Zayn does laugh - if only because of the conviction in Niall's words. Niall nods approvingly and then tilts his head toward Zayn's, enough to be able to whisper in his ear. It makes Zayn squirm.

"Jalapeños," Niall says in a breathy voice that tickles.

_"What?"_

"I'm seducing you, Malik, please cooperate."

Zayn pulls back to frown at him. "I'm really concerned if that's how you hit on people."

Niall licks his lips slowly. Zayn's not quite aware he's tracking the movement.

"Hot sauce." Niall sounds hoarse, like jumping into the ocean wasn't the smartest idea in the middle of October. He shrugs the blanket off anyway and puts a palm flat on either side of Zayn.

"Are you _okay?"_

"Chillies," Niall's saying, crawling over Zayn. Someone around the campfire starts wolf-whistling. It makes Niall grin and bare his teeth over Zayn. "Red pepper. _Black_ pepper."

"Niall..." Zayn can't believe he's actually giggling while Niall straddles him in front of his ex-boyfriend.

"I'm a failure, I can't think of any more hot things," Niall mutters, his breath warm against Zayn's jaw.

For some reason he can't fathom, Zayn can feel his heart somewhere vaguely close to his throat. They should kiss now, he thinks; that's where this is supposed to end up. And they've done enough times now, it shouldn't be awkward. But Zayn can't bring himself to close the distance. There's a little vacuum of space between them and he's not sure either of them have taken a breath for a long time.

"We are _back!"_

They both blink at the same time and the spell or whatever it was settling over them breaks. Niall above him closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens them again, he's smiling as he pulls away and sits on the heels of his feet. Zayn follows after him, trying to keep himself from panting. He looks over to see who interrupted them.

Louis and Eleanor look like they've been trekking in the jungle, if the scratches on their forearms are any indication. They're holding hands though, which puts Zayn's fears of another one of their precocious break-ups to rest. Louis' got a question in his eyes.

Zayn shrugs.

He doesn't know either.

* * *

_"...the worst of the rain is projected to hit in the evening on the West Coast where there have already been reports of property damage and power outages. For those flying back home on Thanksgiving eve, the FAA warns that delays and cancellations are inevitable -"_

"So, what are you gonna do?"

Zayn slumps back in the car seat and stares out at the rain beating on the windows. The traffic toward PDX is in gridlock and most of the passengers are on their cells, either alerting family that they're not going to make it home or frantically checking to see if their flight's cancelled. His cab driver is tuning the radio trying to find the weather on a clearer station but there's clearly no point. There's no way he can fly out to Chicago in this storm.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. His beard - untrimmed and wild because he hasn't taken care of it since a couple of mornings ago - makes his palm burn. "I dunno, Harry. The airline is saying that they're delaying all flights until tomorrow night so, like. What does it matter, if I'm missing Thanksgiving weekend?"

From Harry's end of the line he can hear the car rev up as Harry turns down the volume on Sonic Youth. "I didn't mean that. I meant - what are you gonna do for the holiday weekend, man? You can't stay at the apartment alone!" Harry sounds outraged at the thought. Zayn's jaw twitches into an almost smile at Harry's slowly returning broad Valley accent. **  
**

He bites the cuticles on his thumb as the cab takes a turn for downtown. "What else am I gonna do? Louis and Liam left yesterday, you're halfway down the Interstate already, everyone else I know is traveling to their family." He stops himself before it sounds too much like he's feeling sorry for himself. His cab driver looks like he's five minutes from inviting him over for turkey. "It's fine, honestly, I'll take a day or two off work in a couple of weeks, mom won't have to miss me."

Harry's messing with his music again. He's probably the worst person to own a car ever because he gets distracted too easily. "Not everyone," Zayn hears him say thoughtfully.

"What?" Most of the coffee shops are closed, twinkling lights spreading cheer through the windows. Zayn feels heavy at the thought of missing out on his Mom's decorations.

Harry clears his throat. "Not everyone is traveling to see family."

Zayn watches his reflection frown at him. "Are you seriously suggesting I go to Toby's for Thanksgiving? The California air is clearly not good for you."

Harry lets out a braying laugh. "Fuck no. Obviously, Jesus, I'm not insane."

"Well."

"Screw you," Harry replies pleasantly. "I meant Niall. Niall's home."

Zayn's breath freezes in his chest. "I - I don't think so, Harry -"

"He'd love to have you! So would Maura - she's the best..."

Zayn sucks his lower lip into his mouth as Harry rambles on. It's not that it would be awkward - he and Niall are way past that stage and since he'd gotten his head out of his ass, he can even call them friends now - but Thanksgiving is, like. A big deal. It would be like he's imposing, making himself part of something he's just pretending at. Ever since Cannon Beach, he's not exactly sure where he and Niall stand.

"- crazy, all fifty of them were adding me on Facebook. Half of them were actually from Ireland so I was just, like, nodding along because I got about half of the conversation," Harry's saying. **  
**

"Harry, I'm not calling Niall," Zayn interjects as firmly as he can. He can hear Harry pouting from the other side of the country.

"I'm not letting you spend Thanksgiving alone. I'll just call him -"

"No, Harry," Zayn says, with what he hopes is an air of finality. He covers the phone with his hand to lean over and tell the driver where to park - "Just outside the drugstore is fine, thanks. Cool, yeah - how much?"

The cab driver hands his luggage over, along with his card. Zayn hauls the duffel bag over his shoulder and presses the phone between his shoulder and ear. He's been dying for a smoke since he left work. He pats down his jacket and pulls out a rollie before heading round the corner. It's overcast up ahead and there's puddles everywhere; the chill is sinking into him and making him shiver.

"Zayn," and Harry sounds so downtrodden, Zayn almost - almost - caves.

"Harry." Time to bite the bullet just to get Harry off his back. "I love you and all for caring about me but I'll be fine. Bring me back some pie or biscuits or whatever. I'll just, like, catch up on applications or something, pull another shift at work, it'll be good -"

"Work?" Harry's outrage is palpable through the phone. Zayn rolls his eyes and raises his duffel bag over his head; it's started to rain. He messes about blindly for his keys and slips on the fliers littering the front steps to their building, grabbing onto the railing just in time. His unlit cigarette is still safely caught between his teeth - thank fuck - but a tendril of smoke tickles his nose all the same. He frowns and looks up, spots a figure huddled by the doorway, puffing on a cigarette that's down to the filter.

"What the -?"

"...mom will, like, kill me -"

"Harry, _I'm_ going to kill you when I call back," Zayn says shortly, hitting disconnect on his phone and leaning on the damp wall opposite the hooded figure. "When the hell did he have time to call you?"

Niall pulls back his hoodie and runs a hand over his flattened hair. His cheeks are pink with cold, like he's been standing out here for a long time. "Who? What are you -?"

"He was talking to me the entire time I was coming back from PDX, unless he's like, texting and talking and driving at the same time -"

Niall raises the palm of his hand, dropping the filter and putting it out with his foot. "I have literally no idea what you're talking about, bro. I haven't spoken to Harry since he left yesterday."

Zayn frowns. "Then. How did you -?" He gestures around him uselessly. The rain's coming down at an angle so they're still getting drenched. He doesn't care all that much right now.

Niall grins. The pink on his cheeks looks like the color's stained. "I, like, heard that a bunch of flights were cancelled? Figured I'd see if you wanted to come around. For Thanksgiving."

Zayn's jaw actually drops for a full second before he catches himself. "Seriously?"

Niall grins bigger. "I'm warning you, Thanksgiving at the Horans' is pretty insane. But it's better than spending it alone, yeah?" Zayn's eyes drop to Niall's feet; he's shuffling his weight between them like he's nervous. Zayn can't figure out why he would be.

"Um." He pushes his damp fringe out of his eyes. "Harry really didn't call you?"

As if on cue, Niall's cell lights up from the pocket of his hoodie. Zayn starts laughing at the ringtone.

"Bump 'n' Grind?"

"Hasn't changed in five years," Niall sighs dramatically before he hits silent. "So. Do you need to bring stuff with you?"

"I haven't said yes yet," Zayn raises an eyebrow. The corner of Niall's mouth tips up until here's a dimple there.

"Get your stuff, Malik."

* * *

"Please tell me we're not going to your place on that damn bike of yours."

The rain's pouring in sheets now, beating against the window of their apartment and making the glass shake. He's dumped the presents he got for the girls on his bed and now he's searching the kitchen cabinets for that one bottle of wine he's sure he and Harry haven't drunk. Niall's on the couch watching some nature show on PBS, cradling the tea Zayn had shoved into his hands. Hot-blooded he may be, but Zayn could see his lips turning blue when they were climbing up the stairs to the apartment.

"You love that bike, Malik, don't front," Niall says easily. His eyes don't flicker away from the domesticated turkeys on the tv but he's smiling. "And no, we're not taking the 'damn' bike. Ma would kill me. I borrowed the Jeep."

The relief Zayn feels is tangible. He gets on his tiptoes to reach the shelf where he knows Harry hides his stash and sure enough, there's candy there to last a lifetime - but no alcohol.

“What are you looking for?” Niall’s voice is closer. Zayn glances over his shoulder; he’s got one eyebrow raised and he’s looking at Zayn palming at Harry’s chocolate.

Zayn sighs and stands back on flat ground. “Harry’s hidden the wine, I’m sure it - wait!” He rummages around one more time and gets his hand around the neck of a bottle. “Ha, found it. That little fucker.”

“You need a drink before you meet the family? We’re not that weird, whatever Styles has told you.”

Zayn opens his mouth, horrified. “No! Of course not! I just - I’m spending the holiday at your mom’s and I’ve never met her before and she doesn’t even know who the fuck I am and - well, wine’s the least I can do.”

Niall’s eyebrow quirks up again, unimpressed. “You don’t have to bribe her with alcohol, first off. But, okay, we can take it, ‘cos she’ll appreciate the gesture.” Zayn relaxes his grip on the bottle. “Second, she knows who the fuck you are, Zayn, and she likes you, so please chill the fuck out and stop thinking you’re an inconvenience. This was Maura’s idea more than mine." **  
**

Zayn frowns. “What d’you - how was it her idea? She’s never seen me.”

“And whose fault is that?” Niall says pointedly. He’s back in the living room, switching off the tv and lugging Zayn’s duffel over his shoulder. “You’ve got sneaking around down to an art. Any story I should know there?”

Zayn refuses to blush and just gestures at him to get through the front door before he bolts it shut. They make a run for it in the rain and Zayn throws a lime green raincoat of Harry’s over their heads while Niall unlocks the Wagoneer. When they’ve gotten in, Zayn breathes out in relief and massages his arms, most of him soaked through. It’s only after Niall’s backing into the road that it occurs to him that Niall was avoiding the conversation.

“How does she like me?”

“Huh,” Niall says, twisting the wheel even more recklessly than Harry to get the car smoothly over a patch of ice. Instead of keeping his eyes on the road, he scowls at the dashboard and slaps his hand haphazardly on every button. “My mom’s had this since before I was born and I still - haven’t figured out - how the fucking heating turns on.”

Zayn laughs and flicks his hand away. “Thwarted by technology. You really are the worst of hipster culture.”

“First of all, fuck you, she bought this in 1989.” Niall gives him the finger, speeding up until they catch sight of the river. “Second of all, fuck you. You went to Reed, you can’t talk.”

Zayn drops the smile immediately. “I’m offended by the insinuation -”

“No insinuation, my friend.” Niall smirks in his direction. “You have a beard.”

“You know what, just stop right here, I’m getting off -” He rattles the two-decade old child lock on his side of the door threateningly. **  
**

“You wanna jump off the bridge, be my guest!”

They both look at each other at the same time and then glance away, bursting out laughing. The tightness that’s been in Zayn’s chest all day loosens. **  
**

“Enough of this, I don’t like confrontation,” Niall grins. Underneath them, the Willamette looks grey, reflecting the storm ahead. Niall shivers and punches a random dial again. “What were you talking about before?

“Oh, right.” Zayn turns in his seat, lifting his leg to fold himself over it. “Your mom. How does she knows that she likes me?”

It might be Zayn’s imagination but Niall looks like he’s blushing. Now that’s interesting. A long moment passes where Niall says nothing. “Er - Niall?”

Niall blinks and shakes himself. “Right, sorry. Yeah. About that.” He smoothes his hands over the leather of the wheel like he’s steeling himself. “You know how, like, Harry’s been really into our whole - thing.” Zayn feels apprehension curl up at the base of his spine; when Harry’s part of an explanation it’s never good. “And we all know Harry’s weird.” Zayn nods again. “So, he, like, he’s friended my mom on Facebook, which, what the fuck, who does that, he basically speaks to her more than me and I freakin’ live with her -”

“Niall.”

Niall glances over quickly, then back on the road. “I mean, she probably thought something was up, she has a Spidey sense for these things -”

“Niall.”

Niall takes a deep breath and sighs. “I just figured it was easier to go along with it than, like, tell my mom the whole story.” He’s watching Zayn from the corner of his eye.

“Harry’s told her I’m your - what, boyfriend?”

He’s definitely blushing. “I’m sorry.”

Zayn laughs. “Why’re you sorry, you dork? You’ve been my boyfriend for like, a long time. Might as well return the favor.”

“It’s not - you don’t owe me anything -”

Zayn’s shaking his head, glancing outside at the familiar road. Everything’s cast in a pale hue, pink, edging toward purple, and there are clouds everywhere. It’s so cold, even with the heating on, that his breath looks like thick smoke. It’s definitely going to snow tonight. “It’s not that I owe you,” Zayn says, turning back to Niall. He’s pulling into the Horans’ driveway, where there are already three different cars Zayn’s never seen before. “It’s that it’s not big deal. Honestly. Piece of cake. We’re pros at this point.”

Niall smiles as he turns the key and switches off the ignition. “Okay. I believe you.” He glances up, through the frosted windscreen to the house, and breathes out purposefully. “C’mon then. Let’s do this.”

Zayn jumps out from the Jeep, stepping into the sludge the rain left earlier. Outside, you can actually hear the cold; it makes the prospect of a fire burning sound even more attractive, despite the large number of Horan family members attached to the deal. He waits for Niall, leaning on the car’s headlights. Niall has Zayn’s duffel over his shoulder and his arm is stretched out, palm up. Zayn doesn’t even think before he takes it.

Niall fumbles with his keys, his fingers stiff with cold. As soon as he gets it in the lock, they’re bombarded with a blast of noise. Zayn practically flinches.

There’s a mountain of discarded shoes in the hallway, along with enough pieces of luggage to dress a small European country. The source of the noise is the living room; Zayn can make out little kids screaming with delight and an accent so thick he can barely tell it’s English being spoken. _Irish,_ he corrects himself.

“There’s not that many of us,” Niall reassures him, pressing close. “We’re just very loud when we get together.”

Zayn hums nervously.

“Hey. How ‘bout we sneak down to mine and chill before you have to meet everyone?”

Zayn’s mouth twitches. He’s not comfortable meeting new people; it takes a lot out of him and most of the time he can’t be bothered, especially when he knows he’s not going to see them again. He’s not exactly antisocial - thanks, Louis - but he doesn’t see the point. And the fact that Niall seems to get that means a lot. 

Zayn squeezes his hand and nods. “If you’re cool with that.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Christ, yeah. More than happy to avoid Uncle Dick. How many times do you think I can handle the conversation about my minimal career prospects?”

They tiptoe down the hall and Zayn keeps his head down just in case. At the door of the basement, Niall adjusts the strap of the rucksack over his shoulder and puts his free hand on the handle. He doesn’t get any farther than that.

“Now I know you’re not sneaking off to avoid your own family, Niall James.”

They both freeze and Niall whips his head around fast enough that he becomes a blur for a second. Zayn’s slower to follow him, trying to preserve what little dignity he has.

The lady in front of them is around Zayn’s mom’s age. She’s small enough that Zayn feels tall around her and she has an eyebrow expertly raised. It’s overwhelming all of a sudden how much she looks like Niall; they have the same eyes, blue and wide and mischievous, and even though Zayn’s completely terrified of her right now, he knows he likes her straight away.

“Jeez, ma, you scared us.”

“Good thing too, or you’d have hidden down there until dinner tomorrow,” Mrs Horan says, sounding very unimpressed. “I raised my boy to be polite, Niall.”

Niall’s looking at his shoes, the picture of a chastised kid. “Sorry, ma.”

Zayn can’t help the grin on his face at the way Niall’s addressing his mother.

“Hm,” she says. She turns her full attention to Zayn. For a second, her expression remains unamused. Then a smile unfurls from her mouth and it’s the spitting image of Niall’s and Zayn can’t believe he was ever afraid of this woman. “C’mon over and let’s see you then.”

Niall nudges him between the shoulderblades and Zayn stumbles forward into Mrs Horan’s open arms. She gives him a giant hug; she smells of flour and flowery perfume and it’s nice and it’s comforting and it’s the most welcome Zayn’s felt in ages.

“Well, you’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” She pulls back, holding him by the shoulder to get a proper look at him. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Zayn, after all the near misses.”

Zayn’s face is hot. “I’m sorry about that, Mrs Horan -”

She tuts instantly. “Maura. I’m not letting the first boy my son brings home call me Mrs Horan. Makes me sound way too old. Maura,” she repeats. “Deal?”

Zayn nods, his heart thumping loudly. “Yeah. Deal, Maura.”

“Good. Now,” she lets him go, adopting a very business like expression. “My son is going to sort you out in the bedroom upstairs -”

Niall squeaks. “But, Mom -”

“No buts, young man. Your brother is staying in the basement because he has a five year old son. You and Zayn are staying in your old bedroom.”

“Mom, I can barely fit in that -”

Maura lets out a laugh. It’s another thing that reminds Zayn so strongly of Niall he does a double take. “Don’t be silly, darling. Did you really think I was gonna let you sleep in the same bed? You can have the futon.”

Niall’s ears are bright pink. “Oh my god, ma.”

Maura tuts again. “No funny business under my watch, Niall, darling. I’m sure Zayn understands. Now run along upstairs and then the family will be waiting.” She squeezes Zayn’s upper arm. “Don’t look so scared, Zayn. I promise none of them bite.

“Except Theo,” Niall puts in. He looks like he’s very much accepted his fate of a sleepover.

“Except Theo,” Maura agrees. “Try and avoid poking him.”

Zayn gives her a bewildered smile. “I’ll make sure I do, Mrs - Maura,” he catches himself.

She pets his head. “I’m glad you came over,” she says and it sounds so sincere, Zayn feels something lodging in his throat.

He doesn’t say anything - he can’t. He thinks he’s glad he’s here too.

* * *

"So, you gonna join us for our annual Thanksgiving soccer game, Zayn, my man?"

It’s early - too early, according to Zayn’s biological clock. After a good couple of hours yesterday when he was introduced to the entire Horan family tree, they’d all settled in the living room to watch Charlie Brown and a marathon of Steven Seagal movies until most of them passed out during Above the Law. He’d woken up to Niall’s nephew Theo sitting firmly between them, eating a cinnamon roll straight out of the packet and watching the Macy’s parade.

Zayn blinks blearily over the rim of his coffee mug when he hears his name and winces when a hand pats him unceremoniously on the back. It's one of Niall's innumerable cousins; Johnny or Donny or Casper, for all the attention Zayn's been keeping. He's wearing a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, neatly pressed, so that means he's one of the bankers - Zayn counted four last night - and he's even less inclined to remember his name now.

"Um, what?" He makes an effort to respond anyway because he's a guest and his mother raised him right. Also because he can see Niall trying not to laugh from across the table, deep as he is in conversation with his nephew.

Casper grins, crooked teeth biting into his bottom lip. It reminds Zayn of Niall's smile a bit and he sits up straighter, focusing on not falling asleep.

"We're big soccer fans in this family -" "It's _football_ , ya bollix," one of the actual Irish ones says thickly and the house shakes a bit with appreciative laughter. Casper looks ecstatic that he's got everyone's attention. "Sure, sure. So, we're big on football then, in the Horan household. And since Thanksgiving is the only time we're all together, it's become tradition to play. Eleven a side, is it?" There's a flurry of movement while all the bankers count everyone up. "Eleven it is! So, Zayn." Casper claps him on the back again. "You in, man?"

"Er." The truth is, Zayn's absolute crap at most sports. He doesn't think he's played a proper game of football - American, normal football - since he was in high school. And his experience of soccer is limited to Niall coming back from Providence Park and looking wild eyed after a Timbers game. "I'm not really... I don't really play?" He's not sure how he can refuse without insulting about thirty hot blooded Irishmen.

Aforementioned Irishmen start guffawing in unison and he gets about a dozen more pats on the back that feel like he's displaced his spine.

"Alright, alright, guys, leave 'im alone," Niall comes to the rescue, depositing Theo on someone's eager lap and rounding the table until he's sitting next to Zayn. He hand digs into Zayn's thigh softly. "He's gonna be keeping me company while you're off having fun." He doesn't look at Zayn, but Zayn knows the sly smile at the corner of his mouth is for his benefit.

"Aw, just because you ballsed up yer knee, Nialler -" someone says dismissively.

"Ma won't let him play," Greg laughs. Zayn doesn't miss the wink in his direction and he laughs into his mug.

"We ain't pissing off Maura, that's for sure -"

"That's a right shame," Casper says, looking downright apologetic. "Next year, yeah?"

Zayn chokes on his coffee; Niall's fingers bite into the meat of his thigh a little more forcefully and then let up. Zayn glances at him sideways. He's staring at a scratch on the wood of the table as though it's the most interesting thing in the world and Zayn realizes he'd miss Niall if he disappeared from his life after this.

"Yeah, next year, definitely," Zayn grins. "Maybe I'll even watch a game before, just so I know what's going on." The entire Horan family erupts into laughter again and Niall sneaks a peek at him, hiding behind his hand. Zayn squeezes the one on his leg and shrugs.

When they're gone - armed with half the pantry and Maura's curses - Niall goes to the kitchen to help his mom with dinner and Zayn retreats into the bathroom. The line for the shower had been ten people long this morning and Zayn's glad for the alone time. It's not that he's ungrateful; even at home in Chicago it gets a little too much when there's not a moment's peace.

He stands under the scalding water face up, feeling his muscles relax. He grabs a shampoo bottle at random - there's a Walmart's worth piled on a shelf - and lathers his hair up. It smells of roses and it reminds him of Safaa and he can't help the smile on his face. He makes a mental note to call his mom to wish them a happy holiday.

From downstairs, he can hear Niall and his mom laughing, the radio blaring out something guitar heavy. He smiles to himself and hums the tune under his breath. It's not premeditated or anything, he didn't come in here for that, but he's washing his newest tattoo, finger pressing down on it tenderly, and his dick is suddenly interested. He hasn't gotten himself off since yesterday and it might not be the best manners to do it in someone else's home but, well. Beggars can't be choosers. He'll feel very guilty about it later.

He strokes himself languidly, feeling his muscles tense up in anticipation. He tries to bring to mind that time he and Toby fucked in Paul' ancient shower but the memory's blurry and Niall's singing Fleetwood Mac at the top of his lungs. Zayn blinks through the sheet of water and pulls harder; it's not like he needs a visual.

His mouth's open and he's panting when the door suddenly bangs open. He doesn't screech - though it's a close call - but he does yell a startled, "what the fuck?" He grabs the shower curtain to protect his modesty and whips his head around it to see who it is.

Niall's pressed flat against the door, looking as sheepish as it gets. Zayn frowns.

"Niall, what - I locked that door!"

"Doesn't work. Sorry, shoulda mentioned," he says in a rush. Zayn can feel his blood pressure rising.

"Doesn't explain why the fuck you're in here. Can you please _leave?"_

Niall opens his mouth to answer when there's a sound against the door like someone's about to put a sledgehammer to it. "Oh, shit," Niall hisses. Then, with no warning, he surges forward and pushes Zayn under the shower, getting in himself. A second later, the door opens and Zayn assumes someone else comes in, only now he's behind the curtain and Niall's fully dressed and getting drenched in front of him.

"Niall James Horan," says Maura and Zayn feels his cheek turn crimson. His whole body feels on fire actually, and it's not just the steaming water hitting his back or the blood rushing as far away from his dick as it can.

"Ma, I'm warning you, there's nothing you ever wanna see in here." Niall has his back to Zayn and he's steadfastly not looking at either Zayn or his mother.

There's a pause where Zayn contemplates emptying the entire contents of Niall's bleach dye into his mouth. "Zayn, darling, is that you in there," Maura says sweetly.

Zayn gulps. If he wishes hard enough, he will never have a boner again in his life. "I. Yes, Mrs Horan."

"I told you to call me Maura," she tuts. "As for you, Niall, we will talk about this when you're not jumping into showers with other people to avoid having a conversation with your mother. And everyone is going to be back in about a half an hour, I don't want any of the kids to witness anything they shouldn't, so be quick." The sound of the door clicking shut behind her is like music to Zayn's ears

They both breathe out in unison. Niall actually leans forward to put his forehead on the wall. Zayn takes the opportunity to shove at him. "Ow!"

"Get out now. I'm naked."

Niall's shoulders shake with silent laughter. "I mean, that's not really much of an incentive to get out, is it?"

Zayn focuses all his rage on the damp material bunching up between Niall's shoulder blades. "I'm literally going to kick you out."

Niall braces himself. "Confession time."

"Niall, _get the fuck out."_

"I've already seen your junk."

Zayn flounders like a fish. "What the - when?"

He can see Niall grinning even from the back of his head. "Well, like. Your reflexes are pretty shit, you didn't cover yourself when I came in!"

Zayn automatically cups himself. Too little, too late. "Are you blaming me? What the fuck, you shouldn't have looked!"

"I'm not blaming anyone, it's very nice junk, all things considered! You should be proud."

"You shouldn't have looked." He's still under the water and his hairs' getting plastered to his forehead. He brushes it aside with the hand that isn't trying to hide his dick. For some stupid reason, it's gone half hard again. He stares at the ceiling because Allah's abandoned him obviously.

"Well, I can't change that, can I," Niall says reasonably. "Look, I'm sorry, I really needed to get away. I'll make it up to you?"

Zayn's still staring at the ceiling. His hand is still cupping his groin. Even though there's no pressure to speak of, an involuntary noise comes out of his mouth. It sounds suspiciously like a moan.

"Niall, I really need you to get out," he mutters through clenched teeth. Niall rolls his shoulders and then turns around. He arches an eyebrow at Zayn and then looks downwards, pointedly. Zayn's past caring.

"Yes, I was jerking off, fuck you."

Niall looks like he's biting the inside of his cheek. "Been awhile, has it, Zayn?"

Zayn jerks his head down and scowls. "I am going to murder you in your mother's bathroom."

Niall's not even bothering to hide his unabated delight. "Am I the most action you're getting, Zaynie?"

Zayn grinds his teeth. Fuck Niall. Fuck Niall for shoving the truth in his face, fuck Toby for existing and not succumbing to Zayn's wiles, fuck himself for getting into this mess. He tries to think of the last time he had sex with someone other than his right hand; the closest he's come is probably Niall fingering that girl in the bathroom when they first met.

He's angry all of a sudden; at everyone, but Niall's the one that's here, smiling with his teeth biting into his lip and looking unfairly good for someone standing in clothes that are soaked through. "You know what, fuck you. You have no fucking clue - how fucking hard this is -"

"I've got kind of an idea," Niall says pointedly and Zayn throws up his arms.

"Oh my fucking - you did not just -"

"Hey." Niall's in his face suddenly; close enough that Zayn can count the droplets clinging to his eyelashes. "Like I said. I can make it up to you."

Zayn opens his mouth to answer - scathingly - until he feels a finger trace along the veins of his hand. The hand that is currently preoccupied with cupping his dick. “What are you -”

“May I,” says Niall and the little fucker’s smirking. He covers the whole of Zayn’s hand and pushes and Zayn’s eyes flutter shut. He lets go without preamble, lets Niall back him against the wall and when Niall kisses him, he kisses back. He circles his fingers around his cock - Zayn’s cock, _Niall_ is touching _Zayn’s cock_ \- and tugs like he’s trying it out. Zayn grunts and thumps his head against the wall. That felt - that felt really fucking good. “Fuck,” he stutters out, eyes snapping open. Niall grins, eyelids heavy, hand wrapped around Zayn’s flushed dick. This is going to end embarrassingly quick.

Niall strokes down his length, thumbing the head of his dick, like he’s teasing Zayn just to the brink. Zayn’s body feels hot, the muscles in his stomach clench and he digs his fingernails in his thigh just to ground himself, make it last a little longer. He can hear himself panting, loudly, obnoxiously and Niall tugs again, not focusing on his hand but on Zayn’s face. Zayn meets his eyes and pants out once, thankful for the water spraying over them. He comes fast on his stomach and Niall’s hand but he doesn’t look, can’t look anywhere other than at Niall.

“Jesus.”

They’re both breathing loudly and Zayn can see Niall’s chest expand under his wet shirt. He stares at him, at Niall, Niall with his hand still loosely cupping Zayn’s cock and he wants to laugh, not like it’s funny but like. He doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s heady with his orgasm and Niall’s biting his cheek like he’s going to smile and so Zayn chuckles and pulls Niall in by the wet hem of his T-shirt. He scrapes his teeth on Niall’s bottom lip and Niall lets go of him if only to put both his palms steady on Zayn’s back.

“Can do you,” Zayn offers, half in Niall’s mouth. It’s only polite. And he’s curious. He wants to see Niall’s dick so he can even out the field.

Niall laughs and pulls back enough to press a kiss to Zayn’s jaw. Then he shakes his head like a dog, sending droplets of water everywhere. “I’d love you to,” he sighs and then surprises Zayn with another kiss, a closed peck on his mouth this time. “But I can hear the cavalry returning.”

Zayn pulls his head from under the shower and listens out; someone is making up words to the Star Wars theme tune, harshly and with a Gaelic accent. “Damn,” he says quietly, and he means it.

The bathroom’s big enough for them both to dry off and get ready. Zayn’s trimming his beard in the mirror when he looks just over his left shoulder at Niall towelling his hair. It’s still damp when he lets it drop to the floor but he doesn’t look like he cares. He grabs his shirt and pulls it off around his shoulders and Zayn forgets about his beard momentarily. He’s pasty as hell, which isn’t surprising in the least; Irish and Portland-born, he’s probably never even heard of a tan. But he’s broad, or at least, broader than Zayn had let himself observe. He’d cover Zayn up easily if he hugged him from behind.

Niall meets his eyes when he’s pulling off his skinny jeans. He hops on one leg and looks at the mirror, grinning when he catches Zayn. He raises his eyebrows in a challenge. “Like what you see?”

Zayn feels warm again but he’s saved by the sight of Niall’s knee. He frowns and turns around to look at it properly. The scar is jagged, white criss-crosses of stitches across the wound, and the pink skin around it looks tight and painful. “Shit,” he whistles. Niall shrugs.

“Proves I’m a man,” he says in a deep voice, slamming a hand over his knee. It makes him wince, the idiot, and Zayn has to fight the impulse to immediately go to him. “Ouch, fuck.”

“What kind of dumbass are you,” Zayn says through clenched teeth. Niall waves his hand.

“It’s not that bad, honest. Looks worse than it is.” He eases himself on the toilet seat, rubbing his palm over the injury. Zayn, fully clothed now, kneels close and reaches a hand out. He looks at Niall for permission.

“Go ahead.”

It feels like paper under his thumb. “How’d it happen then?” It’s kind of amazing really; he had Niall’s hand on his dick not five minutes ago and this, stroking a delicate finger over Niall’s knee feels like the most intimate thing they’ve ever done.

Niall raises a shoulder. “‘S always been bad really. Last year though I kinda - got into an accident. Had to have surgery and everything. Ma lost it.”

Zayn’s thumb spasms over the wound. He glances up at Niall. “On your fucking bike?”

Niall shrugs again. “Like I said. Accident.”

Zayn pulls his hand away but stays kneeling in front of him, balanced on the balls of his feet. “This have anything to do with you jumping into the shower to avoid her?”

Niall’s pulling at his lips with his thumb and forefinger; Zayn’s noticed how he does that when he’s thinking. “She worries about me too much. It’s - it’s not her job anymore.”

Zayn snorts without heat. “She’s your mom. She’s never not gonna worry. Especially if you keep doing dumb shit with your bike.”

Niall lets go of his lips to smile. “Keep saying shit like that and you’re gonna be her new favourite boyfriend, Malik. She’s not gonna let you leave.”  
  
“Maybe I don’t want to leave,” Zayn says stupidly. He’s not sure why, only the implication that Niall’s brought other people home for Maura’s approval irks him a bit. Niall smiles all the way up to his eyes.

“Good,” he says quietly. “The Horans are big fans. Just so you know.”

Zayn can hear water drip from the shower. Other than that, it’s silent. If this was any other time, if Zayn was any other person, then this would be when he’d lean over, he knows. A part of him wants it; he wants to lean over and kiss Niall and have it mean something. Niall licks his lips and Zayn finds himself wanting it even more, or wanting to want it. He moves - to get up or to get closer, he’s not entirely sure - but there’s a yell from outside and what sounds like thunder as a herd of Horans make their way upstairs. “Get out o’ the fecking loo -”

Niall blinks. “Coming, coming.” He sounds a little disappointed, if Zayn’s not reading too much into it. They both stand up and Niall eases the useless lock backward; about ten people appear behind the door, sweaty, blond and unimpressed. That is, until they see the state of Niall. One of them starts wolf-whistling and Niall’s reflexes must be good after years of growing up with these people because he cups his hands over his chest straight away and shuffles behind Zayn to avoid a nipple twist. Zayn chuckles and puts his arms around Niall from behind, shielding him from his leering family members.

“Bathroom’s all yours, stop abusing him please,” he says, pushing through. He gets another couple of claps on the back - he’ll have lumbago by the end of the holiday weekend - and makes his way toward Niall’s old bedroom.

“When you said you were _coming_ before,” someone says.

“Fuck off, Willie -” Niall yelps, burying his face in the nape of Zayn’s neck.

“Language, Niall James.” Zayn can’t help but imagine Maura’s wielding a large pan as she stamps out of the kitchen. Most of them scarper and Niall grabs one of Zayn’s hands and runs. The bedroom door slams shut behind them and for a moment they stand side by side, panting like they’ve run a marathon. Then Zayn sneaks a look at Niall the same time Niall sneaks a look at Zayn and that’s it. Zayn slams a hand over his face to muffle the giggles and Niall actually slides down the door, the corners of his eyes wet.

It hits him then, that this is the most fun he’s had in ages.

He can’t help but think it’s all to do with the idiot boy having a laughing fit on the floor beside him.

 

* * *

 

Zayn calls his mom after Thanksgiving dinner. He slips out from the dining room when the conversation turns to politics and heads outside to sit on the porch steps. There are Christmas lights twinkling from every other pointed roof and it stopped snowing sometime mid-afternoon, so there’s a bed of snow covering every flat surface. He can’t even see the Wagoneer parked in front of the house; it looks like a pile of virgin white in the dark.

He breathes hot air onto his hands as he laughs at Don and Safaa arguing over who gets to hold the handset. They’re all at home, back from college and work, probably sharing Mom’s pie straight from the dish. They’d be settling on the sofa round about now, if Zayn was there, waiting for the game to start on tv. It’s the first time he hasn’t been there on Thanksgiving and it’s not like he doesn’t see them; still, he can’t help feeling envious when he hears Dad take over the remote and Doniya start chanting obnoxiously for the 49rs.

After he’s ended the call, he stays outside, pulling up his crew neck over his chin to keep warm. The door behind him creaks open soon after and Zayn doesn’t have to turn to know who it is. Niall lowers himself on the same step Zayn’s sitting on, wincing at the cold, and offers him a mug with a chipped handle. The steam from the hot cocoa makes Zayn’s nose tickle; he breathes over it, relishing the warmth, and takes a sip. “Thanks,” he raises it in front of him, tipping his head to the side to watch Niall.

“Mom says it’s comforting,” Niall shrugs. “She figured you might need it. Your folks good?”

Some kids from the house opposite are yelling as they run through the front door, snowpants and mittens and beanies making them look three times their size. One of them falls face down in the snow and starts flapping her arms and legs trying to make a snow angel; the others immediately jump on her. “They’re good,” Zayn says, smiling as the oldest of the kids starts pelting snowballs at his siblings.

“Good.” Niall huffs out, shivering at the cold. “Sorry you couldn’t be there with them.”

Zayn looks over at him again, still smiling. “You’re not so bad. I’ve enjoyed it.”

Niall flushes pink, looking pleased. “Good,” he repeats. “We’ve enjoyed it too.”

They’re quiet after that. They watch the kids make a half-hearted snowman and then their parents calling them in for bedtime and it’s peaceful, aside from the occasional shout from inside.

“So, like. This is romantic and all,” - Zayn bites his teeth into his lips, laughing at Niall’s chattering - “, but my ass is stuck to the ground and Greg swears he has schnapps we can sneak into our drinks and I really wanna see the Seahawks cry -”

Zayn gets up first, offering a hand to pull Niall up. He comes easily and bumps into Zayn’s chest. Zayn doesn’t let go of his hand and their fingers end up awkwardly trapped between them. Again, it’s there; Zayn wanting to want this and he’s tempted to do it, because Niall kisses like he has something to prove, if nothing else. He breathes out and watches the hot air press against Niall’s lips. Then he moves, one step forward - while Niall moves back. “Ya coming in,” he asks, moving to the front door and letting Zayn’s hand go. Zayn nods, a little off balance, and follows him inside.

It’s a slightly more sedate affair inside; most of the Horans have gone, hoping to get home before the whistle blows at eight thirty. Maura’s in the giant leather armchair, watching the screen with a frown; Greg and Denise are sprawled on the sofa, their kid curled up between them; Niall heads over to their side, grabbing a couple of spare cushions and pulling a blanket on top of him. He turns to the game straight away, eyebrows meeting with concentration, and pats the space beside him without looking at Zayn. Relief trickles through him and he sits down next to him, sharing the blanket over their laps. Greg nudges a small bottle at him and widens his eyes suggestively. Zayn takes it, smiling, and sips discreetly; he’s not sure he manages it, even though Maura looks too busy yelling over a play.

The Seahawks win 24-22, to Niall’s dismay. He protests very quietly, one eye on his sleeping nephew and one on his mother, and Zayn watches him text Harry, one angry emoji at a time. Greg gets up after, his son folded over his shoulder, Denise whispering goodnights at them. Maura follows, leaning down over Zayn and Niall both and pressing kisses to the tops of their heads. She doesn’t say anything about them sleeping apart this time; and as Zayn watches her shuffle upstairs to bed, he wonders when he got her seal of approval or her trust. He swallows dryly, something caught in his throat, and it takes him a minute to pluck up the courage and look back at Niall.

Who is - unsurprisingly - looking at him, one of his ever-present toothpicks hanging from the corner of his mouth that's stubbornly trying not to smile. "Told you she likes you."

"Despite the shower incident?" Zayn raises an eyebrow, ignoring the heat pooling in his stomach.

Niall chews on his toothpick. He looks thoughtful but he never wavers from Zayn's gaze. Neither of them do; Zayn can't help but feel that they're waiting for something to happen. The events of the day get the better of him though. A yawn escapes him and makes him blink and lose concentration. Niall laughs and pets his head softly, bringing him crashing to his shoulder.

"Bedtime for you, too, I think. Should I carry you like Theo?"

"Fuck off." Zayn untangles himself but he's grinning as he stands up, Niall following his lead. The stairs creak a little underneath their feet but there's no light coming from Maura's bedroom at the far end so they haven't disturbed her. Niall goes into the bathroom first and Zayn changes into his sweatpants and sits on the edge of the tiny single bed, waiting. He plays with the fraying corner of the sheets, plucking at the cotton strands until they come undone in his hands. They're Toy Story covers like the ones Zayn got for his birthday when he was ten and it does something, that, to the feeling that's bubbling in his stomach.

He hears someone clear their throat and looks up. Niall is standing in the doorway, throwing a thumb behind him. "Bathroom's free."

Zayn nods and pushes himself up. Niall doesn't move from the door, just leans against the jab enough that Zayn can get past. They still brush against each other on the way and Zayn very carefully avoids glancing back.

He's studious with his time in the bathroom; at one point he must have been brushing his teeth over one spot over and over enough for it to bleed and that's when he knows for sure. He spits out and wipes his mouth, staring at himself in the mirror. There's a coffee stain in his shirt.

Shaking his head at himself, he plucks out the phone from his back pocket and pulls down the text he got earlier. The one that he got during dinner and the one he excused himself for, not wanting Niall to know. It's weird, how he doesn't want Niall to know Toby texted him, when the whole reason Zayn's even here on Thanksgiving is basically Toby.

_Rmr when my mom caught us lighting a bowl on my bedroom window? Not as much fun w/o u here :/_

The thing is, he does remember, of course he does. The familiar ache is there, lodged right in his heart as usual, and the text doesn't help. Zayn frowns at the screen, sees the last message sent was from him almost two months ago now - _not missing it for the world :)))))))))_ \- about Toby coming back to Portland. It's like the ache is so familiar he can glaze over it, almost. He wonders when exactly he got used to being screwed over by the guy he's in love with.

He thumbs out a reply, then thinks better of it. He's had a good day and that's despite Toby. It doesn't belong to him, not any part of it, and it makes Zayn feel good, that he knows that. Toby can wait a day. This little bubble of time is Zayn's.

Niall hasn't moved from the door. Zayn hadn't expected him to. He navigates his way between Niall's outstretched legs and copies his stance, moulding his back against the doorway. The only light comes in from outside, twinkling red and white. It casts odd shadows over Niall's face, throwing the angles of his face in sharp relief. It makes Zayn want to reach out and touch them.

"I forgot to pull out the futon," Niall says lightly. The damn toothpick moves up and down as he speaks.

"Okay," Zayn says. He can hear something loud in his ears and it takes him a moment to place it. It's his heartbeat, beating a tattoo against his eardrum.

Niall pushes away and comes close. He wraps his hand around Zayn's palm, his thumb pressing right in the middle. "I," he starts and then stops, tearing the toothpick out of his mouth with his free hand. "Zayn, I -"

"I know," Zayn finishes for him, pulling sharply and using momentum to make them collide against each other.

It's a mess of a kiss but because it's them, because they've done it so many times, it's an almost perfect kiss. Niall cradles the back of Zayn's head and sucks on his bottom lip like he knows he likes. It's slow, veering on the torturous, the way he's so gentle with Zayn, the way he's always so gentle with Zayn. That's not what Zayn wants now though; he doesn't think that's what either of them need.

He smoothes a hand over the slight curve of Niall's waist and guides him back until the back of his legs hit the wooden bed frame. Niall separates from him with a keening sound, bracing himself from the fall with his elbows. Zayn panics for a second. "How's your knee, fuck -"

"Who cares," Niall says in a strangled whisper, eyes raking over Zayn. They're glowing in the dark, startlingly blue, and they look desperate, as desperate as Zayn's trying not to feel. He leans down quickly to kiss Niall, hand cupping his face, then pulls back again to tear the shirt over his head.

He hears Niall's sharp intake of breath as he drops it on the floor. It makes him remember sharply how much he and Niall don't know each other, in spite of the last two months. It makes Zayn want to know him inside out. He hooks his thumbs on his waistband and pools them at his feet, stepping out of them. Niall reaches out straight away and Zayn takes his hand and lets himself be pulled until they're flush against each other. They're both warm, feverish, like Niall's normal temperature has been turned up a notch and seeped through them both.

Niall's still braced on his elbows and Zayn's leaning on his flat palms above him and they meet in the middle, breathing harshly into each other's mouths. It's loud to Zayn's ears and he glances back at the open door they've left behind them. "Fuck- what if someone hears -?"

"I cannot stress how much I do not fucking care right now, Zayn," Niall pants out, reaching out with an arm to wind around Zayn's shoulders and push him flat against his chest. Zayn goes with a grunt, cushioned by Niall's skinny torso and it would hurt ordinarily, only Niall's tongue is in his mouth and his brain whites out.

They rut against each other like teenagers. Niall's fingers dig into Zayn's shoulders until he's sure there'll be marks there in the morning, five half crescents to remind Zayn that this really actually happened. That should give him some pause, he almost hits the brakes then but Niall's hips snap up and Zayn can feel him half hard against his stomach. He hums with the back of his throat and pushes down with intent, his hands balling the shirt Niall's still wearing.

With effort, he pulls away and leans back, kneeling on the mattress. Niall looks flushed in the flickering light coming in from outside, his cheeks and his neck and the start of his chest a blotchy red. He follows him, sitting up, his eyes never leaving Zayn's. He grabs the hem of his shirt from his back and pulls it over his head. Zayn's never thought that move was hot, just a really stupidly complicated way of getting undressed, but Niall throws his shirt on the floor and he's staring up at Zayn with his hair fluffed up and his eyes wide and guileless and Zayn has to rethink his entire being.

Niall's legs are splayed around Zayn where he's kneeling and they tighten momentarily. He cups his hand over the back of Zayn's neck and Zayn goes readily, mouth open and hungry. They kiss until Zayn’s mouth starts to feel raw and he feels Niall’s cock hard and twitching through his sweatpants. He squeezes his side reassuringly when he moves back to press his mouth just above the waistband of Niall’s pants where there’s a trail of dark blond hair. Niall sucks in a breath and Zayn takes it as a yes and rolls them down his thighs.

There’s patch of wet where Niall’s cock is leaking and for a second Zayn’s brain goes hazy because - fuck, it’s been a while since he did this. He tightens his hand around one of Niall’s thighs and the skin turns white from the pressure. His mouth starts watering even before he leans down and starts mouthing over Niall’s briefs.

Niall’s hips stutter against him. Zayn grips tighter on the meat of his thigh, keeping him in place and then uses his free hand to pull Niall’s cock free. It’s dark and hard against his belly and Zayn can’t believe how much he wants. He kneads Niall’s leg, preparing himself and relaxing his jaw, and glances up at Niall before he leans down. He’s looking at him with his lips parted and Zayn can’t stop himself from grinning minutely. Niall meets his eyes and even like this, hard and overwhelmed, Niall manages to smile right back at him.

He takes him down as far as he can straight away and his mouth’s wet enough already that it’s slick and almost too easy. The heavy press on his tongue makes his eyes roll back and Niall smells so good around him. When he hits the back of his throat, Zayn just stretches his jaw and takes it, feeling Niall shake under him. He pulls off when it’s too hard to breathe and circles his hand around the base, licking a slow stripe to make up for it. Niall doesn’t seem to mind; his chest is going up and down in a shivery breath and he’s mumbling nonsense in as quiet a voice as he can manage. He’s trying to watch but his eyes look watery and his back is curving off the mattress every time Zayn teases with his lips bumping against the head of Niall’s dick.

“Zayn - please -”

“Shh,” Zayn reassures him, rubbing a flat hand over the goosebumps erupting on his thigh, and his breath tickles the inside of Niall’s leg. He chokes out a sound and screws his eyes shut and Zayn takes pity on him finally and lowers himself down again. He doesn’t take him all in, this time, just laps at the head with his tongue, feeling Niall’s body move with him. The muscles in Niall’s legs contract suddenly and Niall mutters a quiet, “Zayn,” and Zayn just nods to let him know it’s okay.

Niall falls back with relief and Zayn swallows around him, sucking until Niall makes a noise that sounds like, “Christ,” and Zayn sits up. They’re both panting like mad.

“C’mere,” Niall mutters nonsensically, making a clawing gesture at Zayn. Zayn goes, lying down next to him even though the bed is ridiculous and definitely too small for them. Niall’s eyes are half-lidded and he looks - content is the best word for it, loose and relaxed and just sort of beautiful. Zayn hovers over him, lips curled into a smile. “Go to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice breaking into something fond.

“Mmm,” Niall says curling around himself. “I can feel your dick, y’know.”

Zayn colors slightly. “Well.”

Niall’s eyes are closed when he waves a hand in offer. It makes Zayn laugh.

“I got this. You sleep.”

That makes Niall blink and wrench his eyes open. “As if I’m gonna miss the show.”

It’s not much of a show because Zayn’s hard and it hurts a little when he first touches himself. His head is pressed close to Niall’s and he bites his lip, tightening on the upstroke. Before he comes, he glances at his side and Niall’s watching him, intent on the movement in Zayn’s boxers. He’s not sure if that’s not the nudge he needs in the end.

He wipes himself off with the tissues conveniently placed under Niall’s bed - “You never know,” Niall shrugs - and then falls back, burying himself under Woody’s face. Niall’s momentary alertness has vanished. He makes a hum a of approval when Zayn closes in on him but his eyes stay shut.

Zayn catches himself watching him sleep, seconds before he passes out. He won’t remember that part in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Zayn’s loaded with three different kinds of pie and a promise to send Maura’s love to his mom when he speaks to her next by the time he makes it out the door. Niall’s got his rucksack over his shoulder, huffing at his mother that “you’re gonna choke him, mom, and then he’s really never going to come back.” It’s a damn lie; Zayn’s fine with Maura’s hugs, even if it does make him choke up a bit - for different reasons than her suffocating him. When she lets go of him finally and tells him to take care of himself with enough sincerity that Zayn has to look away, he trudges over to Greg’s car and perches the carefully wrapped dessert on top of all the luggage. He wipes his eyes as inconspicuously as he can behind the raised hood of the trunk.

“Drive safe, you hear me, Gregory?” Maura shouts from the porch, wrapped up in one of Niall’s winter coats. “The roads are worse downtown!”

“Yeah, yeah, ma,” Greg says reassuringly, strapping Theo into the booster seat and then moving aside to let Zayn in. Niall’s on Theo’s other side and that’s a surprise. Zayn frowns at him over Theo’s head which is staring intently at his Playstation in any case.

“What’re you…”

Niall shrugs, grinning easy. “Thought I’d come along for the ride. Ma’s likely to get me to do dishes otherwise.”

“You’re doing those anyway, baby bro,” Greg chastises from the front, putting the keys into the ignition. Niall waves his arm flippantly and steals the console from his nephew. In the ensuing squabble, Zayn can only look away and smile, something warm pressing down on his chest.

When they’re driving over the bridge, Denise snatches the game away from them both - “He is five years old, Niall Horan, you are an old man, stop this.” - and they both whine until Greg turns on the radio to tune them out. It’s hilarious to watch Niall trying to one up Theo and Zayn knows it’s for his own benefit too, that Niall’s getting him to laugh at every single one of his stupid jokes. It works too, and Zayn can’t even bring himself to care.

It takes an age to drive into Zayn’s street because of the snow but they get there eventually. Greg gets out to help with the luggage and holds out Maura’s pie with the reverence they deserve. He pats Zayn’s back before he goes back into the driver’s seat. “Was nice meeting you, Zayn. Stick around, yeah?” He smiles before he lets Zayn reply and Zayn flounders just a little bit because it reminds him exactly of Niall. Speaking of whom -

“So, you had fun?” He’s leaning on the back window, hands in his pockets, toeing the snow with his weather-inappropriate Chucks. Zayn watches him for a moment, then taps his chin with a finger lightly. Niall looks up, squinting.

“Wanna come up?” Zayn glances over to his building where Harry’s massive Range Rover is parked at a really bad angle. “Harry’s back.”

Niall licks his lips and nods. “Sure. If Harry’s here.”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

They wave at the others as they drive off and then bound up the steps to shelter from the cold. Harry hasn’t bothered to look through the mail, so Zayn picks it up. He does it slowly, like he’s stalling and he thinks he knows why. He sneaks a look at Niall and dreads going upstairs and bursting what little bubble they’ve kept themselves contained in. He shoves the bank statements under one arm and stands up. “Hey.” Niall turns.

“Huh?”

“I did have fun,” Zayn says, coming close enough to play with the hem of Niall’s sweater.

Niall inhales. “I’m glad,” he says succinctly.

They’re very close.

“Oh, hi, guys!”

Harry’s voice makes them both jump apart. Zayn blinks, startled, and turns to his roommate, hand running through his hair awkwardly. Harry’s hair looks like he’s had a trim and he looks like a holiday nightmare in a sweater that his grandma probably knitted for him. He’s grinning manically and his eyebrows are moving at an impressive pace. Zayn frowns at him.

“What are you -”

“Guess who’s here,” Harry interrupts him and from the tooth-achingly sweet tone of his voice, Zayn can tell the enthusiasm is insincere. He flings the door open wide and Zayn and Niall both lean over. There’s someone lounging on their couch, in his uniform of skinny jeans and tie-die shirt. Zayn’s breath catches in his throat.

_“Toby?”_

“Yeah, it’s my favorite fucking person,” Harry continues, sounding more and more like he’s lost it. He zeroes in on Niall. “Oh, thank fuck, Horan.” He pulls him in by the lapels of his coat and does the eyebrow dance at Zayn. “I need to show Niall why California is the best state. In private.”

Niall doesn’t put up a fight when Harry pulls him along. He meets Zayn’s eyes before he disappears behind Harry’s door; there’s no way Zayn can interpret the look he’s giving him. He stares at the door after it swings shut, heart beating in his throat.

Toby’s watching him when he glances back. “Your roommate’s pretty weird, huh?”

Zayn shrugs and walks to the kitchen to unwrap Maura’s pies. He puts them over the stove carefully, trying to sort out his thoughts. By the time he’s done, Toby’s standing behind him, doing his slow grin that used to make Zayn’s knees weak. 

Zayn swallows. “So, how was Thanksgiving?” It’s a safe enough subject.

“You know. The usual.” Toby’s still smiling for no reason other than he knows what it does to Zayn. He reaches over and rubs a hand down the length of Zayn’s arm. “I texted you.”

Zayn coughs and doesn’t move. “Yeah, I. My cell died.” He’s fairly sure that’s true; otherwise he knows Harry would’ve warned him.

“Figured.” Toby sounds so self-assured. Zayn has to wonder just how obvious he’s been the entire time. “It was so lame with just my family.”

Zayn makes a non-committal kind of noise. He crosses his arms. “Margot couldn’t make it?”

“Hm?” Toby lifts up the foil over one of the pies and pulls a corner off, popping it into his mouth. He looks so at home here, in Zayn’s kitchen, even though he’s never been here before. “Oh, right. She went to her folks in, like - Philly or something? Whatever.” He shrugs and Zayn can tell he really doesn’t care; it should make something loosen in Zayn. It doesn’t.

He takes a deep breath.

“What are you doing here, Toby?"

Toby chews slowly, looking over at Zayn. "I had to ask fucking Paul where you lived," he says finally. Zayn doesn't speak up. "When did that happen? Paul knowing more about you than I do?"

"Probably about a year ago." Zayn's voice is quiet. "When you took off and Paul kept more in touch than you ever did."

Toby flinches. Then, he nods, chewing on his lip. "Guess I deserve that."

Zayn doesn't argue. Toby makes a frustrated noise, running his long fingers through his hair; it doesn't look like he's washed it in a while and his undercut is growing out. "Zayn, what the - I'm _here."_

Zayn feels his jaw clench. "So," he makes himself say.

"Fucking -" Toby's playing with his fingers; there are callouses there Zayn hasn't seen before. "Do you need me to say it?" He asks.

Zayn could kill him. "Is it so fucking difficult?"

"Jesus Chr- Fine! I miss you! There. Fucking happy now?"

"Do I look fucking happy?" Zayn turns his back to him, busying himself with finding somewhere to put the pies. He can't believe that this is what he's been waiting for - praying for for so long. His hands shake a little as he pushes aside the Tupperware in the refrigerator. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up.

"What about -" for the first time, it sounds like there's actual emotion behind Toby's words. Zayn stops in his tracks, frozen. "You and - y'know."

Zayn feels a scream trying to rip out of his throat. "None of your fucking business."

"Zayn." There it is again. "You spent Thanksgiving with him."

"Yeah, I know. I was there." He wants to sound vicious but it just makes him come across as pathetic. He grits his teeth and slams the refrigerator door, turning around.

Toby looks angry and hurt and he has no right to, Zayn knows that, but he still wants to make it better. He rubs a hand over his face. "Ugh. It's not - my flight was cancelled. I didn't have anywhere else to go." He doesn't mean to shout the words.

Relief stretches over Toby's face.

"So? Like - what's with you two? Are you -?"

And the thing is, maybe two days ago the answer would've been easy. Now, it makes him pause. He stares at Toby, looking at him like he's pleading and then his gaze slips to the door of Harry's bedroom. It's not shut properly. He opens his mouth and he's not sure if it's the truth that comes out.

"We're - nothing. Not really."

Toby's mouth splits into a grin, all crooked teeth, and he looks like the Toby Zayn met at Reed two years ago. The idiot music geek he fell in love with, instead of the wannabe rockstar that replaced him.

He takes a step closer to Zayn and Zayn feels his heart pick up speed. Before Toby can do anything though, there’s a slamming noise behind them and they both jump. Zayn looks over Toby’s shoulder just in time to see Niall shrugging into his jacket and heading to their front door. He opens his mouth to say - what, he doesn’t know, but Harry gets there before him. Niall gives him a backward glance and Zayn’s never seen him look quite so blank. He makes a twitchy gesture to the door with his hand.

“I gotta - I have to leave,” he says with no inflection and then he’s gone. Harry meets Zayn’s eyes looking perplexed.

“What the heck just happened,” Harry says, staring at the open door.

Zayn makes to move - he’s not sure if he’s about to go after Niall or not, or if that even makes sense - but Toby gets to him first. His hand wraps around Zayn’s wrist, slender fingers digging in deep. “Zee,” he says. That’s it, just his name, and any determination Zayn had one way or the other goes out the window. Harry’s watching them, apparently not awkward at all.

Zayn shakes his head. “I can’t do whatever this is right now.”

Toby keeps his lips tight. He lets go. “Okay. Okay. But I want - can you come over? When you’re able to do this?”

Zayn’s fucked up somehow. He doesn’t know how but he has, he can feel it in his chest. “Sure, yeah. You’re at Paul’s?”

Toby nods. “Yeah. Just. Whenever, yeah?”

“I will,” Zayn promises. He’s fucked up badly. He hates how confused this has him feeling.

Toby goes to move, then hesitates. But he’s Toby, for all the wrong-footedness about them right now. He leans over, crashing a kiss on Zayn’s cheekbone and then turns, following Niall. He waves at Harry who throws him a look of pure loathing - one that doesn’t look half as menacing as he’s obviously hoping - and goes.

“And I repeat,” says Harry slowly. “What the heck was that?”

Zayn wishes he knew.

 

* * *

 

It's almost been a year since the last time Zayn did this. He remembers the details with mind-numbing accuracy; it was Tuesday, in a bleak and rainy December, but the Christmas lights made up for it. He'd probably just finished one of his lectures and an all-nighter in the library and instead of going home to Louis, he'd taken the bus straight to Mason Street and up to Paul's third floor apartment.

It smelt of weed and cigarettes and the oil Toby used on the strings of his guitar and Zayn didn't want to admit how much it smelt like home. Paul was out, or else they'd kicked him out so they had the apartment to themselves. It was probably evening when they stopped for a breath, huddled on the squeaky couch with a bottle of the cheapest liquor they found in the kitchen.

He's not sure when the yelling started; he can only remember the feeling of falling, of something wide and dark and endless opening under his feet. Toby probably said something incongruous, like it was nothing. _So, did I tell you we're going on tour finally?_ Or, _man, I can't wait to spend Christmas somewhere warm for a change._ And Zayn knows he didn't care what Zayn was feeling back then; didn't care or didn't realize how much it would hurt, because he never asked him to come with him. There was never a moment when Zayn felt wanted or missed or significant.

That was probably the point when he threw one of the guitars out the window. He's not exactly proud of it, now, he thinks. But at the time, it helped. Louis still says it's a story he'll be telling his grandkids.

He'd stormed out after the guitar. Stormed out and walked all through the night, trying not to break down. When he finally got home, Louis was waiting for him, tight-lipped and open-armed, and it had felt like the end of the world. He hadn't realized then and he's only just realizing now; but that was probably _it_ for him and Toby, when he needed to be fixed by his best friend.

It's not that much different this time. There's no yelling and no guitar being thrown out the window but that same feeling is there, of something ending. He watches the door shut behind him, knowing it's last time he will, and then he shrugs his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time.

Harry's waiting for him outside, his back against a car parked on the curb. He's got a beanie and a scarf on and he's concentrating on his phone, the ghost of a smile playing on his face.

Zayn doesn't need to be fixed this time. But it's still nice to have a friend around after.

“How’d it go,” Harry says, looking up at him.

“It was.” Zayn licks his lips. “I don’t know. Okay? We talked. Which is more than we’ve done in a really long time.”

Harry nods and gestures down the street. They start walking, heads bowed a little against the wind. “And you’re feeling okay?”

He doesn’t even really have to think about it. “Yeah. I’m relieved. Is that weird?”

Harry’s looking at him thoughtfully. “No. No, I don’t think it is.”

Zayn sighs, a weight he hadn’t realized was there finally lifting.

He buys them both hot chocolates from a crappy vendor and they keep walking, people milling about them, bumping into each other, swerving by. He notices Harry glancing at every store window, playing with his hair, fingers running through it nervously. It makes him want to laugh.

“Hey, hey, stop.” He stands in front of Harry on the sidewalk and fixes his scarf, buttoning his coat up properly. “There. All set.”

Harry has his lower lip in his mouth. “What’re you…”

Zayn quirks the corner of his mouth up. “Liam’s been driving Louis insane all day. I don’t know why you two are nervous.”

Harry shuffles his feet. “He’s booked us a table. That’s like, an _actual_ date.” He says the last word in a whisper.

“Look at you guys growing up.” Zayn presses a hand on his chest. Harry makes a face. “But, seriously? You’ve got nothing to be nervous about.” He squeezes Harry’s face between his palm. “You should go, though. Maybe buy him some flowers.”

Harry’s expression is horrified. “Flowers?”

Zayn keeps his face straight for as long as he can. “Oh god, no, it’s not even that fun messing with you when you’re like this. Go, Harry.” He pushes him softly, because Harry still looks mildly nauseous.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Zayn smiles. “I’m sure. Louis and El are waiting at theirs with Netflix and shit alcohol. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m leaving now,” Zayn says, walking backward. When he gets to the street corner, he turns only to be assaulted by a full body wrap from behind. “Harry,” he manages to get out, in a strangled voice.

“I love you, man,” Harry says gruffly. Then he leans lower, to whisper into Zayn’s ear. “He has his class today. If that’s… a thing you’d like to know.”

Zayn pries himself out of Harry’s arms and looks at him measuredly. Harry shrugs. Zayn nods, not really sure what he’s agreeing to.

It takes almost no time to skate from where he is to Bellmont. He doesn't realize he's going there until he sees the church steeples rising in the sky. He dithers in the opposite side of the road, balancing on his toes and the balls of his feet in a rocking motion, playing with a loose lock of hair just for something to do with his hands. He's not sure why he's hesitating. Then again, he's not sure why he's here in the first place.

He pulls his cellphone out to check the time just as the church doors swing open. It's after nine and the class is done, so he recognizes the kids tumbling out. He stays put, hidden in the shadow of a convenience store window, and worries his lip with his teeth. He makes the decision before he actually sees Niall come out.

_hey_

He hears a delighted screech and looks up. Sam is punching Niall's arm and he's fending her off uselessly, a palm covering his face. It's ridiculous and it makes Zayn grin and he takes a step forward, unconsciously drawn to them. He stops in his tracks though when he sees Niall slip his phone out of his back pocket and stare at the text there. Sam shamelessly reads it over his shoulder and punches him again. Zayn watches from his hiding place; watches Niall run a hand through his hair and Sam frowning and then both of them sit one the steps that lead to the church. His phone buzzes with a text. Then another.

_Hey_

_How'd it go w Toby ?_

The indignity of him squinting from the other side of the road to make out Niall's face is not lost on him. He and Sam are talking in low voices, heads bent over Niall's phone.

He starts typing, then deletes it, then types again. For fuck's sake. He wants to tell Niall because Niall deserves to know but over text seems ridiculous when he's ten feet away from him. And yet Zayn can't move.

He makes the decision quickly.

 _What r u doing tmrw at seven. Am_. It's probably a thing he needs to clarify, because anyone who knows him knows he hates single digit numbers in the morning.

_Sleeping. Definitely sleeping._

Zayn laughs quietly.

_Steel Bridge. Seven. Don't b late :)_

He can see Niall frowning finally because he shifts in his seat and the light from the street catches his face. For a second - for a stupid, long second - Zayn can hear blood rushing to his ears. He's going to say no.

His phone vibrates in his hand.

_Only for u malik._

 

* * *

 

Liam lets Zayn borrow his fixie, if only because Zayn terrorizes him into it when he knows he and Harry are back from their date. He's never let Zayn so much as touch his bike otherwise; he and Louis have been banned since they collectively have the coordination of an octopus on land and Louis used to steal it after class in college.

Liam rings the bell of the apartment at six thirty, after Zayn has consumed his body weight in caffeine and then some. He buzzes him in with his eyes sealed shut and then slumps back on the couch, trying not to pay attention to every muscle in his body that's protesting. He feels rather than hears Liam come in. The perkiness is coming off him in waves, disgusting, infatuated waves that make Zayn want to throw things. He sips more coffee to restrain himself.

"So, the bike's locked in front of the drugstore and here's your helmet and here's a waterproof jacket - no, listen, the weather looks terrible, I don't care about your hair, you'll catch a cold and it's still dark out, so it's the really yellow one, so you'll glow and Harry said you'd rather be run over than wear it but you know what, whatever, you're wearing it and I checked the battery of the lights and they're -"

"Liam." He's surprised he can make any kind of recognizable sound. It's amazing that people choose to function at this hour. He makes an effort to open his eyes.

Liam takes a deep breath. "Sorry. Yes. What?"

"Thank you," Zayn grunts. "For bringing the bike."

Liam grins and his whole face lights up. "Anything for you, man." He shrugs. "You know I run around this time anyway. And Harry said he'd kick me out of bed if I didn't help out with this."

Zayn blinks slowly. "What exactly does Harry think you're helping out with?"

Liam's face pinches, like he's been caught out.

"Liam."

"Look, I don't - Harry thinks, he's like, he thinks you're gonna do this big, epic romantic gesture kind of thing." Liam says it all really fast, like he's trying to get it out of the way. "I mean," he glances at Zayn, looking apprehensive. "All of us do. We hope so anyway."

Zayn blinks again. "All of you?"

"Well." Liam scratches the back of his head. "Eleanor said she's jealous. She said the most romantic thing Louis' done for her lately is propose with a pumpkin."

Zayn squints through the sleepy dust caught in his eyelashes. He doesn't remember exactly what he said to Harry last night when he called but he's pretty sure he didn't mention Toby's name at all. He didn't even mention Niall's.

He rubs a knuckle in his eye. "You all hate him though. Like, _hate_ hate. Louis said he wanted to rip his throat out with his teeth. Eleanor keeps sending me screencaps of the comments she's leaving on their videos on YouTube. _You_ wanted to beat him up a few months ago."

Liam looks as confused as Zayn feels. "What are you -" his face falls suddenly and he claps a hand over his mouth. "Shit. You're doing this for _Toby?"_

Zayn knits his eyebrows together. "I - isn't that what _you_ think?"

Liam drops his hand. "I'm confused."

"Same," Zayn says slowly.

"Why do you think _we_ think you're doing this for Toby? We hate fucking Toby!" Liam actually pounds a fist into his other hand.

Zayn's head hurts. "But you said - something about about epic romantic gestures..."

Liam's face relaxes into something soft. "Zayn." He presses his hand over Zayn's shoulder, curving it around his neck. The weight of it helps Zayn wake up.

"What," he says. His mouth feels dry.

Liam's eyes swivel over Zayn's face. "I don't blame you for not, like, realizing. Nobody did really. Not until Harry said." He probably doesn't even know what his face does when he says Harry's name.

"What did Harry say?" His heart is speeding up for no reason and he's breathing in, in small, shallow breaths.

"It's Niall, isn't it?" Liam says it quietly.

Zayn knows what he's asking - _you're doing this for Niall, aren't you?_ \- but the way it's ringing in his ears seems almost like he isn't it.

_It's Niall, isn't it?_

And if Zayn could speak right now, he knows what his answer would be.

Of course it's Niall.

"Shit," he croaks out. He pats down his pants for his phone and pulls it out with trembling fingers. It's 6:50. "I gotta - I have to go, Li."

For someone watching his friend have a near panic attack, Liam looks remarkably pleased with himself. He helps Zayn locate his missing shoe - under Harry's bed for no discernible reason - and steers him outside. It's still pitch black and freezing.

He shoves the helmet over his head and straddles the bike, getting a feel of it under his hands. Liam's watching him like a proud mom.

"Thanks again, Liam," he says quietly. His words come out with puffs of hot air.

Liam shakes his head. "Good luck, yeah?"

Zayn nods, not trusting himself to speak. Then he pushes the bike forward, bracing himself for the drop in temperature.

It's been a while but apparently that age old saying is true; you can't forget how to ride a bike. He manoevres through the empty streets, running a couple of red lights because there's no one around to stop him. He's too pumped to think about road safety; there's adrenaline coursing through his body, edging him to go faster. When he reaches the river, he's comfortable enough that he can stand, balancing on the pedals. It makes him grin, the ride and the wind and the way his hair's tickling the back of his neck. He'll ask Louis for tips on stealing Liam's bike more often.

He sees the lights of the bridge reflected on the water first, and then the mass of metal becomes clearer. There are more cars driving around him now and he can hear a MAX train crossing to the other side of the misty Willamette as he gets closer. There aren't any pedestrians though; no one aside from the a single solitary figure in white, leaning on the frame of their cycle.

Niall raises his shades as Zayn stops in front of him. He looks sleepy and his hair is flat and Zayn can't help it, how he smiles just at the sight of him. It's still the easiest thing to do, smiling at Niall.

"I feel like I'm still dreaming." Niall's voice is pretty shot. "Are you on an actual bike, Malik?"

"Is this a fantasy of yours, Horan?"

Niall winces, if only for a second, and Zayn curses his big mouth. He needs to handle this carefully, even if he doesn't know quite how to do that.

"Possibly," Niall says, putting his glasses on again. There's no need for them because it's still night around them but far be it from Zayn to begrudge someone a fashion statement. "So, where are you taking me, then?"

Zayn fastens his helmet tighter and hoists himself back on the saddle, turning westward. "You'll see," he says in a muffled voice and takes off.

Niall gets brave enough to mess with him halfway, zigzagging behind him and making Zayn laugh and lose concentration. When they're cycling through a neighborhood that hasn't woken up yet, Niall overtakes him, arms up in the air like he's flying. "Look, ma, no hands!"

Zayn speeds up. "I'm telling Maura about this, you fucking maniac," he yells.

Niall's face spasms with something painful again. But it's momentary and it's gone when they turn the corner.

It's 7:17 by Zayn's phone when they get to Skidmore Bluffs. The park is quieter than Zayn's ever seen it before. His last memory of it is coming with Liam and Louis last summer and seeing it swarmed with questionable mustaches and Birkenstocks. Now, it's dark and wet with dew when they abandon their bikes on the overgrown grass and head to the edge of the park. The water to their left is sparkling under the lights of a freight boat taking off; to their right, the train tracks cast shadows alongside the moving clouds.

Niall shivers beside him. "Hadn't pegged you for a fan of the Bluffs."

Zayn smiles. "I love it here. Even when it's overrun with hipsters."

Niall laughs softly. "Used to come here all the time when I was a kid. Pretty sure this is where I got drunk for the first time in my life."

"I'm touched."

"Shut up."

Just ahead, on the last track they can see, a sliver of orange starts bleeding through the dark and casting its glow on an abandoned carriage with graffiti all over it. "I've never actually seen the sunrise from here," Niall murmurs.

"Me neither," says Zayn in a whisper. He's seen sunsets here, with a beer in hand and a radio playing, but it's not the same.

Niall clears his throat into his fist. "So. How's," he pauses. "How's Toby?"

He's surprised by how much it doesn't hurt now, hearing Toby's name. Now, he's okay. It feels okay.

"Good," he says truthfully. "The band's going on another tour. West coast to east. Should be sick."

"Sounds like it," Niall agrees.

The color's bled more, tingeing the entire sky pink. "He asked me this time round."

Niall exhales. "So when are you going?" He doesn't sound as unaffected as he's trying to. Zayn chances a glance at him. His mouth is pulled in a tight line and he's not looking at the sun rising.

He's looking at Zayn.

"Niall," he says measuredly. "I'm not."

Niall presses his lips together. Above them, everything looks blue rather than black. "You're not going with him?"

Zayn shakes his head. Niall is still wearing his dumb shades. With a frustrated sigh, Zayn takes a step forward and takes them off. He needs to see Niall for this.

"He said he misses me. Which is more than he ever said the two years we were together. I said I missed him too."

Niall's eyes are a clear, bright blue. He blinks. "Past tense?"

"Huh?"

"You don't miss him anymore?" Zayn doesn't miss the inch of a step that Niall takes toward him.

He doesn't want to talk about Toby, not anymore. Not ever again. Not with Niall right here. "I was lying. The other day, when we came back from Thanksgiving."

Niall's guard is up again. "About what?"

"When I said - you don't mean nothing. You went through this whole stupid mess with me and you kept me sane and you didn't have to do any of that."

Niall's looking at him weird. "Did you bring me all the way up here to say thank you? Because donuts at a more human hour would have been enough, to be honest."

Zayn surprises himself with a laugh. "That's true. I should've thought of that."

"You're the lamest, Malik." Niall elbows his side and not an inch of his face means what he says. Zayn's stomach swoops.

"Is this a new thing," Zayn says, pouting to his nearest approximation of Harry. "You calling me Malik?"

Niall's expression goes soft and Zayn is floored a bit by how much that affects him. "It's not new. I've always called you that."

It sounds like an admission. Zayn searches his eyes, not sure what he's looking for. "You've always called me that?" He frowns.

"You just never noticed, I guess. Until now."

It's warmer now, or maybe it's in Zayn's head because the sun is so bright. "It's okay," Niall speaks up again, quietly. "I don't think I knew from the beginning anyway."

It feels like something's slipped through Zayn's fingers without him realizing. "From the beginning?" Zayn croaks out. Niall shrugs. He doesn't look sorry, is the thing, or abashed or embarrassed. He looks like he hasn't just admitted something that could shake the ground underneath Zayn's feet. Zayn blinks at him and licks his lips, feeling them chapped under his tongue. He wants to say something - anything - but Niall seems content to let the silence lie.

That only lasts until there’s a rumble and Zayn wraps an arm around his waist instinctively. Niall barks out a surprised laugh.

“Was that your stomach?”

Zayn feels his face contort. “It’s early and I’ve had too much coffee,” he says defensively.

Niall laughs, delighted.

“This whole starving artist deal you think is so cool -”

Zayn raises a finger. “Listen, Horan -”

Niall’s eyes glint under the sun. “We’re getting breakfast, okay?” A split second of hesitation makes him pause. “I - do you have time for breakfast?”

The swooping sensation is still there, making his chest feel tight and like it’s too big for his body all at once. He nods, biting his lip not to smile too hard. “Yeah. I’ve got time.”

All the time in the world.

 

* * *

 

It’s snowing by the time they get downtown, snowing enough that it’s hard to cycle on the road. Zayn sees his life flash before his eyes about three times - a personal achievement Niall doesn’t seem impressed by.

Everywhere is full with people shielding themselves from the wind. Even Niall looks cold, his nose pink, and he keeps lifting his hands from the handlebars to breathe into his gloves. Zayn notices now, how much he can’t stop looking at Niall. It’s like he’s given himself permission and he can’t help it; the pink nose, dusted with freckles, his mussed up hair, blond at the tips but dark just where his beanie is beginning to ride up on his head, the Timbers hoodie stretched on his back. And how much Niall looks back at him, meeting his eyes every time Zayn turns to him.

“A picture would last longer, bro,” Niall says, his voice loud but muffled by the neck of his hoodie.

Zayn doesn’t look away. He just keeps staring, brows furrowed and tracking every move Niall makes.

Niall huffs out a breath and his ears, still mostly hidden under the beanie, turn red.

They grab hash browns from McDonald’s and Niall props the greasy bag under his arm and takes the lead, heading to Zayn’s.

Zayn unlocks the door, breathing a sigh of relief at the sound of the heating whirring inside the apartment. It’s still in the state he and Liam left it this morning, blanket thrown hastily on the floor, coffee rings on the table, which means Harry hasn’t come back yet. The thought makes him nervous. He can’t quite put his finger on why exactly.

Niall’s rummaging around the shelves in the kitchen, humming something out of tune. He’s taken his hoodie off, dumped it on one of the stools like it’s what he does every day coming back to work. The thought surprises Zayn with how welcome it is.

He leans on the door jab, watching Niall make himself at home. He messes with the press to make coffee and boils the milk thick enough to foam and Zayn just lets himself watch, with no expectations this time. There's no danger of Toby dropping in or even Harry with his eyes wide and questioning. This is all theirs; just Zayn and Niall, beginning again.

He swallows the excitement down, or tries to, but it's no use. He can feel it in the jittery way he can't keep his hands still, in the way he wants to lay them flat on the space between Niall's shoulders.

"Here ya go." Zayn focuses on the mug Niall's offering and takes it in his hands, if only to occupy them. He takes a sip and scalds his tongue and then puts it down on the countertop. He doesn't want coffee; he's never not wanted coffee this much in his life. He takes a step forward to pull Niall's mug out of his hands too. Their knuckles brush as he does and there's no static or a spark. But he's warm and Zayn interlocks their fingers after he puts the coffee away.

Niall tugs playfully, stretching their arms between them.

Zayn rubs his lips together, trying not to think too much about what he's going to say. What comes out is, "I want to break up with you."

Niall's hand freezes in midair and his fingers go limp. "I -"

Zayn shakes his head, replaying the words in his head. "No! I mean - okay, listen. That came out wrong."

Niall looks at him dubiously. "Well, don't leave me hanging here, Malik."

Zayn breathes out from his nose, cursing himself. "Right. Okay." He rolls his shoulders and looks at Niall, feeling braver now. He can't possibly make himself sound more stupid, so there's a silver lining. He squeezes their fingers and Niall squeezes back, still frowning, but smiling through it.

"We've been doing this for, what, three months now?" Niall nods slowly. "Three months together."

Niall raises his eyebrows, smile spreading. He knows what Zayn means now; he's always been good at knowing what Zayn means. "So, you're breaking up with me."

Zayn shrugs and tries hard not to laugh. "Sorry."

Niall puts his free hand on his chest. "I mean, I'm hurt. But I guess I'll live."

Zayn hums. "Quick recovery. I'm a bit offended."

"Sucks," Niall says lamely.

"Well, then." Zayn starts pulling away before his face turns traitor and breaks into a grin. Niall lets him only so far. Then he tugs back, harder this time, until they bump into each other.

"So, Malik," Niall starts, but he can't get his words out through smiling so much. "Do you maybe want to go out with me sometime?"

Zayn wants to kiss him. It's overpowering how much he wants to do that. "Yeah. Yeah, I could do that."

Niall nods, sharply, and then - "fuck it," and he leans over.

He tastes like the cold, like Portland winters and snow and coffee, and he smells a bit like Zayn. Zayn keens at it, slipping his hands free to press under Niall's shirt and smooth them over his waist. Niall grunts at the feeling but doesn't push away. He follows Zayn's lead and they tumble into the living room, stumbling into the decaying couch. Zayn goes down first, spreading his legs so Niall can fit between them. Their mouths don't break away, not even when Niall starts grinding against Zayn. Niall's hands find Zayn's wrists and pushes them above his head.

"What do you want," he breathes out, moving to press a kiss on Zayn's jaw.

"Everything," Zayn says honestly. "But right now, I just wanna get off."

"Happy to help," Niall murmurs. His eyes are hooded and there’s something there that Zayn hasn’t quite seen before. He wants to chase it, with his mouth and his hands. Heat pools in his belly and he pulls one hand free to curl around Niall’s neck and press their lips together. He can feel Niall’s muscles tighten against him and he knows this is gonna be over quick. But Zayn doesn’t care and he doesn’t think Niall does either. They have time, Zayn thinks absently as he pants into Niall’s mouth, and they can go as slow or as fast as they want.

Niall shifts his hips, aligning them until Zayn can feel both of them hard for each other against his leg. Niall is flushed above him, his eyes almost feral like he can’t quite handle the fact that this is happening. Zayn kisses him again, a single kiss that's too gentle for this. “What do you want?”

“This,” Niall mutters, his hand now cupping Zayn’s bulge through his jeans, pressing hard until Zayn’s eyes all but roll into his head, “you, for so -” he kisses the corner of Zayn’s mouth, slack as it is when squeezes, “- so fucking long.”

“How long,” Zayn tries, honestly tries to say.

Niall leans back an inch, looking down at him. His face is heartbreaking and Zayn thinks, he’s fucking beautiful. He must’ve been blind. “Since the beginning, Zayn. I was being serious before. Since the fucking beginning.”

“Tell me.” It’s new this; asking, being _able_ to ask and knowing that Niall will actually answer.

“Ever since I saw you in the apartment for the first time.” Niall’s mouth is distracting enough that the pinch Zayn feels at how he doesn’t quite remember that isn’t as painful as it could be. “You didn’t even fucking talk to me but I was just -” Niall laughs softly, his breath tickling the hollow of Zayn’s neck, “Harry had to slap me.”

Zayn whines when the pressure of Niall’s hand becomes too much.

“And then, at _Gibson's_. You fucking _kissed_ me, you giant bag of dicks,” and Zayn laughs, he has to, because Niall sounds so indignant. “That was fucking it.”

“What was fucking it?” He’s almost coherent enough to make sense.

Niall makes a growling noise. “Fuck you. I knew I was fucking fucked. Do you know how much I _like_ you?”

It’s on Zayn’s tongue to say, “how much”, but the thing is, he knows. He knows exactly.

“Jalapeños. Hot sauce,” he mumbles, looking to meet Niall’s eyes. “For me. That was - it was then.”

Niall smirks. “Don’t diss my moves, Malik.” He emphasizes his point by pressing their hips together.

Zayn wants to say, “I’m fucking not now,” but the point is moot. He gasps and Niall tenses up above him and they’re kissing each other through their comedowns. Zayn’s breathing hurts when it’s over and Niall’s a dead weight on top of him. They stay like that for a long while and it should be uncomfortable, what with the fact that they’ve both come in their pants. But Zayn could happily stay here for the conceivable future, twisting his fingers through Niall’s hair and feeling him breathe on top of him.

“I like you too,” he murmurs when it’s been quiet for a long time.

“You fucking better, Malik,” Niall says against his chest. “Because I’m going nowhere.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe I’m being dragged here _again.”_

It’s a Tuesday and it’s starting to feel like summer in Portland. The rain finally stopped this week and everyone started coming out of their self-induced hibernation, making use of the sun’s late arrival. Harry’s already got a tan, which he doesn’t hesitate to display at any given opportunity much to everyone’s - aside from Liam's - chagrin. _Gibson's_ has opened the patio doors after almost a year and there are people milling about with drinks in hand, nodding along to the music.

“Shut up, Louis,” Eleanor says, waving her hand to get the attention of their server. She kisses his cheek to soften the blow but Louis still looks affronted, and turns to Zayn as if he’s going to defend him. Zayn just shrugs, trying not to laugh as he takes the drink Eleanor offers him.

“She’s not wrong, man,” Liam says peaceably. “We come here, like, every other week.”

“That is my _point_ , Liam.”

Zayn lets them bicker and takes a step back, his eyes wandering. The crowd’s bigger this week; every time he turns he bumps into another patron and it makes the anticipation inside him curl up more intently. He doesn’t think it’s just the fact that the gig has been promoted so much; it’s word of mouth, plain and simple. People are curious and Zayn can’t help how proud he feels about it. He glances over at the stage and the fluttering curtain hiding the artist. He wonders if anyone's throwing up this time around.

He notices Harry coming toward them then, slipping back into the bar from backstage. He’s bouncing with infectious energy and he grins at the fist Zayn offers him to bump against. “Hey, all,” he says to the rest of them. He steals Louis’ drink and leans over to press a kiss to El, before taking his place next to Liam.

“How is he,” Louis asks the question on Zayn’s mind.

Harry beams. “He’s had like three beers already, so he’s like, super chill. Sam keeps going on about how he’s setting a bad example.”

“He’s nervous,” Zayn feels obligated to say. It’s true; Niall’s been a nervous wreck since the last show. He’d freaked out and wanted to cancel everything this morning. It was only Zayn’s - frankly inspired - decision to push him against the fridge door and relieve some of the tension with his mouth that stopped him from officially crossing over to the crazy side.

“Sam threatened to fire him if he puked again,” Harry says. It sounds like he finds the idea hilarious.

“To be fair,” Liam says, “she _is_ the one who should be freaking out.”

Zayn opens his mouth to defend his boyfriend but someone is already coming on stage to the general whooping of the crowd. They all collectively turn to watch, Louis with his arms wrapped around Eleanor’s waist and Liam and Harry wolf-whistling like the dicks they are. Zayn leans against the bar, nursing the drink sweating in his hand. It always sends a thrill down his spine, waiting for the performance.

Sam comes out first, smirking at the crowd that goes wild. She takes a seat, center stage, a guitar in her arms and the mic in front of her. She looks the part, every inch of it, and Zayn feels inordinately proud to have met her before she takes the world by storm.

No one makes any noise for the other person on stage, hanging back by the curtain. He sits on a stool, strumming his guitar, and then he looks up, searching the crowd. It doesn’t take him long to locate Zayn and then whatever nerves Niall had disappear from his face. He winks and mouths something around the toothpick in his teeth that makes Zayn blush. Louis - nosy asshole that he is - nudges him with a lewd grin. Zayn ignores him, smiling.

_"This is the first day of my life..."_

He can see Niall murmur the words under his breath, tapping his hand against the guitar after every beat. His eyes never leave Zayn's, not even when Sam croons out the words _and I wondered if I could come home_ and Niall raises an eyebrow. Zayn snorts and shakes his head, swirling his drink around. "Dumbass," he mouths. Niall hasn't _not_ come home with Zayn since the first night they spent together there. The apartment's overrun with sheets of music and papers to grade from the high school he's teaching at; their tv's always playing British soccer matches that he and Harry are obsessed with; the refrigerator is stocked to the brim with Maura's persistent cooking.

Zayn wouldn't change it for the world.

 _"Besides maybe this time is different, I mean -"_ Sam pauses dramatically, sweeping her hair back for effect. Niall behind her laughs and Zayn can see people noticing him now; pointing out the guy with the messy blond hair and the easy smile and the way he's only staring at one person here. Zayn doesn't blink, not even when he feels people staring around looking for him. He just watches Niall, cocking his head to the side, waiting for Sam and Niall both to end the song.

_"- I really think you like me."_

Zayn shrugs and smiles and can't stop smiling.

He really thinks Niall likes him too.

 


End file.
